GIFT   OF 
Yoshl    S.   Kuno 


Airthnr'0  Naiumal  Sbttum 


THE  WRITINGS  OF 

MARK  TWAIN 
VOLUME  I 


EARLY   PORTRAITS,    1853-1868 


THE 

INNOCENTS  ABROAD 

OR 

THE  NEW  PILGRIMS'  PROGRESS 

BEING  SOME  ACCOUNT  OF  THE  STEAMSHIP  QUAKER  CITY'S 
PLEASURE  EXCURSION  TO  EUROPE  AND  THE  HOLY  LAND 

BY   MARK    TWAIN 

(Samuel  L.  Clemens) 
IN    TWO    VOLUMES 

VOL.    I 


HARPER  6-  BROTHERS  PUBLISHERS 
NEW  YORK  AND  LONDON 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1869,  by 

AMERICAN  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 
In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  of  Connecticut 


Copyright,  1897  and  1899 

THE  AMERICAN  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 

Hartford,  Conn. 


rmy  most  patient  reader  and  most  charitable 
critic,   my   aged   Motner,  this  volume   b- 
affectionately  inscribed. 


M192919 


BIOGRAPHICAL  CRITICISM 

BY  BRANDER  MATTHEWS 
f+oftssor  of  Literature  in  Columbia  University 


IT  is  a  common  delusion  of  those  who  discuss  con 
temporary  literature  that  there  is  such  an  entity 
as  the  *'  reading  public,"  possessed  of  a  certain  uni 
formity  of  taste.  There  is  not  one  public ;  there  are 
many  publics, —  as  many  in  fact  as  there  are  different 
kinds  of  taste ;  and  the  extent  of  an  author's  popu 
larity  is  in  proportion  to  the  number  of  these  separate 
publics  he  may  chance  to  please.  Scott,  for  ex 
ample,  appealed  not  only  to  those  who  relished 
romance  and  enjoyed  excitement,  but  also  to  those 
who  appreciated  his  honest  portrayal  of  sturdy  char 
acters.  Thackeray  is  preferred  by  ambitious  youth 
who  are  insidiously  flattered  by  his  tacit  compliments 
to  their  knowledge  of  the  world,  by  the  disenchanted 
who  cannot  help  seeing  the  petty  meannesses  of  soci 
ety,  and  by  the  less  sophisticated  in  whom  sentiment 


vi  Biographical  Criticism 

has  not  gone  to  seed  in  sentimentality.  Dickens  In 
his  own  day  bid  for  the  approval  of  those  who  liked 
broad  caricature  (and  were  therefore  pleased  with 
Stiggins  and  Chadband),  of  those  who  fed  greedily 
on  plentiful  pathos  (and  were  therefore  delighted 
with  the  deathbeds  of  Smike  and  Paul  Dombey  and 
Little  Nell)  and  also  of  those  who  asked  for  unex 
pected  adventure  (and  were  therefore  glad  to  dis 
entangle  the  melodramatic  intrigues  of  Ralph 
Nickleby). 

In  like  manner  the  American  author  who  has 
chosen  to  call  himself  Mark  Twain  has  attained  to  an 
immense  popularity  because  the  qualities  he  pos 
sesses  in  a  high  degree  appeal  to  so  many  and  so 
widely  varied  publics, —  first  of  all,  no  doubt,  to  the 
public  that  revels  in  hearty  and  robust  fun,  but  also 
to  the  public  which  is  glad  to  be  swept  along  by  the 
full  current  of  adventure,  which  is  sincerely  touched 
by  manly  pathos,  which  is  satisfied  by  vigorous  and 
exact  portrayal  of  character,  and  which  respects 
shrewdness  and  wisdom  and  sanity  and  a  healthy 
hatred  of  pretense  and  affectation  and  sham.  Per 
haps  no  one  book  of  Mark  Twain's  —  with  the  pos 
sible  exception  of  *  Huckleberry  Finn '  —  is  equally  a 
favorite  with  all  his  readers ;  and  perhaps  some  of 
his  best  characteristics  are  absent  from  his  earlier 


Biographical  Criticism  Yil 

books  or  but  doubtfully  latent  in  them.  Mark 
Twain  is  many-sided ;  and  he  has  ripened  in  knowl 
edge  and  in  power  since  he  first  attracted  attention 
as  a  wild  Western  funny  man.  As  he  has  grown 
older  he  has  reflected  more ;  he  has  both  broadened 
and  deepened.  The  writer  of  "  comic  copy  "  for  a 
mining-camp  newspaper  has  developed  into  a  liberal 
humorist,  handling  life  seriously  and  making  his 
readers  think  as  he  makes  them  laugh,  until  to-day 
Mark  Twain  has  perhaps  the  largest  audience  of  any 
author  now  using  the  English  Iariguage0  To  trace 
the  stages  of  this  evolution  and  to  count  the  steps 
whereby  the  sage-brush  reporter  has  risen  to  the  rank 
of  a  writer  of  world-wide  celebrity,  is  as  interesting 
as  it  is  instructive, 

I. 

Samuel  Langhorne  Clemens  was  born  November 
30,  1835,  at  Florida,  Missouri.  His  father  was  a 
merchant  who  had  come  from  Tennessee  and  who 
removed  soon  after  his  son's  birth  to  Hannibal,  a 
little  town  on  the  Mississippi.  What  Hannibal  was 
like  and  what  were  the  circumstances  of  Mr.  Clem- 
ens's  boyhood  we  can  see  for  ourselves  in  the  con 
vincing  pages  of  'Tom  Sawyer.'  Mr.  Howells  has 
called  Hannibal  "  a  loafing,  ort-at-elbows,  down-at- 
the-heels,  slave-holding  Mississippi  town;"  and 


viii  Biographical  Criticism 

Mr.  Clemens  was  himself  a  slave  owner,  who  silently 
abhorred  slavery. 

When  the  future  author  was  but  twelve  his  father 
died,  and  the  son  had  to  get  his  education  as  best 
he  could.  Of  actual  schooling  he  got  little  and  of 
book-learning  still  less ;  but  life  itself  is  not  a  bad 
teacher  for  a  boy  who  wants  to  study,  and  young 
Clemens  did  not  waste  his  chances.  He  spent  three 
years  in  the  printing  office  of  the  little  local  paper, 
—  for,  like  not  a  few  others  on  the  list  of  American 
authors  that  stretches  from  Benjamin  Franklin  to 
William  Dean  Howells,  he  began  his  connection  with 
literature  by  setting  type.  As  a  journeyman  printer 
the  lad  wandered  from  town  to  town  and  rambled 
even  as  far  east  as  New  York. 

When  he  was  seventeen  he  went  back  to  the  home 
of  his  boyhood  resolved  to  become  a  pilot  on  the 
Mississippi..  How  he  learnt  the  river  he  has  told 
us  in  *  Life  on  the  Mississippi/  wherein  his  adven 
tures,  his  experiences,  and  his  impressions  while  he 
was  a  cub-pilot  are  recorded  with  a  combination  of 
precise  veracity  and  abundant  humor  which  makes 
the  earlier  chapters  of  that  marvelous  book  a  most 
masterly  fragment  of  autobiography.  The  life  of  a 
pilot  was  full  of  interest  and  excitement  and  oppor 
tunity,  and  what  young  Clemens  saw  and  heard  and 


Biographical  Criticism  U 

divined  during  the  years  when  he  was  going  up  and 
down  the  mighty  river  we  may  read  in  the  pages  of 
'Huckleberry  Finn*  and  '  Pudd'nhead  Wilson.' 
But  toward  the  end  of  the  fifties  the  railroads 
began  to  rob  the  river  of  its  supremacy  as  a  carrier ; 
and  in  the  beginning  of  the  sixties  the  civil  war  broke 
out  and  the  Mississippi  no  longer  went  unvexed  to 
the  sea.  The  skill,  slowly  and  laboriously  acquired, 
was  suddenly  rendered  useless,  and  at  twenty-five  the 
young  man  found  himself  bereft  of  his  calling.  As  a 
border  state,  Missouri  was  sending  her  sons  into  the 
armies  of  the  Union  and  into  the  armies  of  the  Con 
federacy,  while  many  a  man  stood  doubting,  not 
knowing  which  way  to  turn.  The  ex-pilot  has  given 
us  the  record  of  his  very  brief  and  inglorious  service 
as  a  soldier  of  the  South.  When  this  escapade  was 
swiftly  ended,  he  went  to  the  Northwest  with  his 
brother,  who  had  been  appointed  Lieutenant-Gov- 
ernor  of  Nevada.  Thus  the  man  who  had  been  born 
on  the  borderland  of  North  and  South,  who  had  gone 
East  as  a  jour-printer,  who  had  been  again  and  again 
up  and  down  the  Mississippi,  now  went  West  while  he 
was  still  plastic  and  impressionable ;  and  he  had  thus 
another  chance  to  increase  that  intimate  knowledge 
of  American  life  and  American  character  which  is 
one  of  the  most  precious  of  his  possessions 


x  Biographical  Criticism 

While  still  on  the  river  he  had  written  a  satiric 
letter  or  two  signed  "  Mark  Twain" — taking  the 
name  from  a  call  of  the  man  who  heaves  the 
lead  and  who  cries  "By  the  mark,  three,"  "  Mark 
twain,"  and  so  on.  In  Nevada  he  went  to  the 
mines  and  lived  the  life  he  has  described  in  *  Rough 
ing  It,'  but  when  he  failed  to  **  strike  it  rich,"  he 
naturally  drifted  into  journalism  and  back  into  a 
newspaper  office  again.  The  Virginia  City  Enter 
prise  was  not  overmanned,  and  the  newcomer  did  all 
sorts  of  odd  jobs,  finding  time  now  and  then  to  write 
a  sketch  which  seemed  important  enough  to  permit 
of  his  signature.  The  name  of  Mark  Twain  soon 
began  to  be  known  to  those  who  were  curious  in 
newspaper  humor.  After  a  while  he  was  drawn 
across  the  mountains  to  San  Francisco,  where  he 
found  casual  employment  on  the  Morning  Call,  and 
where  he  joined  himself  to  a  little  group  of  aspiring 
literators  which  included  Mr.  Bret  Harte,  Mr.  Noah 
Brooks,  Mr.  Charles  Henry  Webb,  and  Mr.  Charles 
Warren  Stoddard. 

It  was  in  1867  that  Mr.  Webb  published  Mark 
Twain's  first  book,  '  The  Celebrated  Jumping  Frog 
of  Calaveras ' ;  and  it  was  in  1867  that  the  proprie 
tors  of  the  Alia  California  supplied  him  with  the 
funds  necessary  to  enable  him  to  become  one  of  the 


Biographical  Criticism  xl 

passengers  on  the  steamer  Quaker  City,  which  had 
been  chartered  to  take  a  select  party  on  what  is  now 
known  as  the  Mediterranean  trip.  The  weekly  let 
ters,  in  which  he  set  forth  what  befel  him  on  this 
journey,  were  printed  in  the  Alta  Sunday  after  Sun 
day,  and  were  copied  freely  by  the  other  Californian 
papers.  These  letters  served  as  the  foundation  of  a 
book  published  in  1 869  and  called  '  The  Innocents 
Abroad/  a  book  which  instantly  brought  to  th* 
author  celebrity  and  cash. 

Both  of  these  valuable  aids  to  ambition  were  in 
creased  by  his  next  step,  his  appearance  on  the 
lecture  platform.  Mr.  Noah  Brooks,  who  was 
present  at  his  first  attempt,  has  recorded  that  Mark 
Twain's  "  method  as  a  lecturer  was  distinctly  unique 
and  novel.  His  slow,  deliberate  drawl,  the  anxious 
and  perturbed  expression  of  his  visage,  the  appar 
ently  painful  effort  with  which  he  framed  his  sen 
tences,  the  surprise  that  spread  over  his  face  when 
the  audience  roared  with  delight  or  rapturously  ap 
plauded  the  finer  passages  of  his  word-painting,  were 
unlike  anything  of  the  kind  they  had  ever  known." 
In  the  thirty  years  since  that  first  appearance  the 
method  has  not  changed,  although  it  has  probably 
matured.  Mark  Twain  is  one  of  the  most  effective 
of  platform-speakers  and  one  of  the  most  artistic, 


Hi  Biographical  Criticism 

with  an  art  of  his  own  which  is  very  individual  and 
very  elaborate  in  spite  of  its  seeming  simplicity. 

Although  he  succeeded  abundantly  as  a  lecturer, 
and  although  he  was  the  author  of  the  most  widely- 
circulated  book  of  the  decade,  Mark  Twain  still 
thought  of  himself  only  as  a  journalist ;  and  when 
he  gave  up  the  West  for  the  East  he  became  an 
editor  of  the  Buffalo  Express*  in  which  he  had 
bought  an  interest.  In  1870  he  married;  and  it  is 
perhaps  not  indiscreet  to  remark  that  his  was 
another  of  those  happy  unions  of  which  there  have 
been  so  many  in  the  annals  of  American  authorship. 
In  1871  he  removed  to  Hartford,  where  his  home 
has  been  ever  since ;  and  at  the  same  time  he  gave 
up  newspaper  work. 

In  1872  he  wrote  'Roughing  It,*  and  in  the 
following  year  came  his  first  sustained  attempt 
at  fiction,  'The  Gilded  Age,'  written  in  collabora 
tion  with  Mr.  Charles  Dudley  Warner.  The  charac 
ter  of  Colonel  Mulberry  Sellers  Mark  Twain  soon 
took  out  of  this  book  to  make  it  the  central  figure 
of  a  play,  which  the  late  John  T.  Raymond  acted 
hundreds  of  times  throughout  the  United  States,  the 
playgoing  public  pardoning  the  inexpertness  of  the 
dramatist  in  favor  of  the  delicious  humor  and  the 
compelling  veracity  with  which  the  chief  character 


Biographical  Criticism  xiii 

was  presented.  So  universal  was  this  type  and  so 
broadly  recognizable  its  traits  that  there  were  few 
towns  wherein  the  play  was  presented  in  which  some 
one  did  not  accost  the  actor  who  impersonated  the 
ever-hopeful  schemer  to  declare,  "  I'm  the  original 
of  Sellers!  Didn't  Mark  ever  tell  you?  Well,  he 
took  the  Colonel  from  me !  ' ' 

Encouraged  by  the  welcome  accorded  to  this  first 
attempt  at  fiction,  Mark  Twain  turned  to  the  days 
of  his  boyhood  and  wrote  '  Tom  Sawyer,'  pub 
lished  in  1875.  He  also  collected  his  sketches,  scat 
tered  here  and  there  in  newspapers  and  magazines. 
Toward  the  end  of  the  seventies  he  went  to  Europe 
again  with  his  family ;  and  the  result  of  this  journey 
is  recorded  in  *  A  Tramp  Abroad,'  published  in 
1880.  Another  volume  of  sketches,  'The  Stolen 
White  Elephant,'  was  put  forth  in  1882;  and  in  the 
same  year  Mark  Twain  first  came  forward  as  a  his 
torical  novelist — if 'The  Prince  and  the  Pauper'  can 
fairly  be  called  a  historical  novel.  The  year  after,  he 
sent  forth  the  volume  describing  his  '  Life  on  the 
Mississippi';  and  in  1884  he  followed  this  with  the 
story  in  which  that  life  has  been  crystallized  forever, 
'  Huckleberry  Finn/  the  finest  of  his  books,  the 
deepest  in  its  insight,  and  the  widest  in  its  appeal. 

This  Odyssey  of  the  Mississippi  was  published  by 


xiv  Biographical  Criticism 

a  new  firm,  in  which  the  author  was  a  chief  part- 
ner,ft  just  as  Sir  Walter  Scott  had  been  an  associate 
of  Ballantyne  and  Constable.  There  was  at  first 
a  period  of  prosperity  in  which  the  house  issued 
the  '  Personal  Memoirs '  of  Grant,  giving  his 
widow  checks  for  $350,000  in  1886,  and  in  which 
Mark  Twain  himself  published  *A  Connecticut 
Yankee  at  King  Arthur's  Court,'  a  volume  of 
4  Merry  Tales,'  and  a  story  called  *  The  American 
Claimant,'  wherein  Colonel  Sellers  reappears.  Then 
there  came  a  succession  of  hard  years ;  and  at  last 
the  publishing  house  in  which  Mark  Twain  was  a 
partner  failed,  as  the  publishing  house  in  which 
Walter  Scott  was  a  partner  had  formerly  failed.  The 
author  of  '  Huckleberry  Finn  '  was  past  sixty  when 
he  found  himself  suddenly  saddled  with  a  load  of 
debt,  just  as  the  author  of  '  Waverley '  had  been 
burdened  full  threescore  years  earlier;  and  Mark 
Twain  stood  up  stoutly  under  it  as  Scott  had  done 
before  him.  More  fortunate  than  the  Scotchman, 
the  American  has  lived  to  pay  the  debt  in  full. 

Since  the  disheartening  crash  came,  he  has  given 
to  the  public  a  third  Mississippi  River  tale,  '  Pud- 
d'nhead  Wilson,'  issued  in  1894;  and  a  third  his 
torical  novel  *Joan  of  Arc,'  a  reverent  and  sym 
pathetic  study  of  the  bravest  figure  in  all  French 


Biographical  Criticism  rv 

history,  printed  anonymously  in  Harper's  Magazine 
and  then  in  a  volume  acknowledged  by  the  author  in 
1896.  As  one  of  the  results  of  a  lecturing  tour 
around  the  world  he  has  prepared  another  volume  of 
travels,  '  Following  the  Equator,'  published  toward 
the  end  of  1897,  Mention  must  also  be  made  of  a 
fantastic  tale  called  'Tom  Sawyer  Abroad,'  sent 
forth  in  1894,  of  a  volume  of  sketches,  *  The  Mil 
lion  Pound  Bank-Note,'  assembled  in  1893,  and  also 
of  a  collection  of  literary  essays,  '  How  to  Tell  a 
Story/  published  in  1897. 

This  is  but  the  barest  outline  of  Mark  Twain's  life, 
—  such  a  brief  summary  as  we  must  have  before  us 
if  we  wish  to  consider  the  conditions  under  which  the 
author  has  developed  and  the  stages  of  his  growth. 
It  will  serve,  however,  to  show  how  various  have 
been  his  forms  of  activity  —  printer,  pilot,  miner, 
journalist,  traveler,  lecturer,  novelist,  publisher  — 
and  to  suggest  the  width  of  his  experience  of  life. 

II 

A  humorist  is  often  without  honor  in  his  own 
country.  Perhaps  this  is  partly  because  humor  is 
likely  to  be  familiar,  and  familiarity  breeds  contempt. 
Perhaps  it  is  partly  because  (for  some  strange 
reason)  we  tend  to  despise  those  who  make  us 


xvi  Biographical  Criticism 

laugh,  while  we  respect  those  who  make  us  weep  — 
forgetting  that  there  are  formulas  for  forcing  tear.*, 
quite  as  facile  as  the  formulas  for  forcing  smiles. 
Whatever  the  reason,  the  fact  is  indisputable  that  the 
humorist  must  pay  the  penalty  of  his  humor;  he 
must  run  the  risk  of  being  tolerated  as  a  mere  fun- 
makei,  not  to  be  taken  seriously,  and  unworthy  of 
critical  consideration.  This  penalty  is  being  paid 
now  by  Mark  Twain.  In  many  of  the  discussions 
of  American  literature  he  is  dismissed  as  though 
he  were  only  a  competitor  of  his  predecessors, 
Artemus  Ward  and  John  Phoenix,  instead  of  being, 
what  he  is  really,  a  writer  who  is  to  be  classed  — 
at  whatever  interval  only  time  may  decide  —  rather 
with  Cervantes  and  Moliere. 

Like  the  heroines  of  the  problem-plays  of  the 
modern  theater,  Mark  Twain  has  had  to  live  down 
his  past.  His  earlier  writing  gave  but  little  promise 
of  the  enduring  qualities  obvious  enough  in  his  later 
works.  Mr.  Noah  Brooks  has  told  us  how  he  was 
advised  if  he  wished  to  "  see  genuine  specimens  of 
American  humor,  frolicsome,  extravagant,  and  auda 
cious/'  to  look  up  the  sketches  which  the  then  almost 
unknown  Mark  Twain  was  printing  in  a  Nevada  news 
paper.  The  humor  of  Mark  Twain  is  still  American, 
still  frolicsome,  extravagant,  and  audacious;  but  it 


Biographical  Criticism  xvii 

is  riper  now  and  richer,  and  it  has  taken  unto  itself 
other  qualities  existing  only  in  germ  in  these  first 
lings  of  his  muse.     The  sketches  in  *  The  Jumping 
Frog '   and  the  letters  which  made  up  '  The  Inno 
cents  Abroad  '  are  "  comic  copy/'  as  the  phrase  is 
in    newspaper   offices  —  comic   copy  not  altogether 
unlike  what  John  Phoenix  had  written  and  Artemus 
Ward,  better  indeed  than  the  work  of  these  news 
paper  humorists  (for  Mark  Twain  had  it  in  him  to  de 
velop  as  they  did  not) ,  but  not  essentially  dissimilar. 
And  in  the  eyes  of  many  who  do  not  think  for 
themselves,  Mark  Twain  is  only  the  author  of  these 
genuine  specimens  of  American  humor.     For  when 
the  public  has  once  made  up  its  mind  about  any 
man's  work,  it  does  not  relish  any  attempt  to  force 
it  to  unmake  this  opinion  and  to  remake  it.     Like 
other  juries,  it  does  not  like  to  be  ordered  to  recon 
sider  its  verdict  as  contrary  to  the  facts  of  the  case. 
It  is  always  sluggish  in  beginning  the  necessary  read 
justment,    and    not    only   sluggish,   but    somewhat 
grudging.     Naturally  it  cannot  help  seeing  the  later 
works  of  a  popular  writer  from  the  point  of  view  it 
had  to  take  to  enjoy  his  earlier  writings.     And  thus 
the  author  of  '  Huckleberry  Finn '    and    '  Joan  of 
Arc '  is  forced  to  pay  a  high  price  for  the  earlv  and 
abundant  popularity  of  *  The  Innocents  Abroad. 


xviii  Biographical  Criti 

No  doubt,  a  few  of  his  earlier  sketch 
pensive  in  their  elements;  made  of  mate 
threadbare  by  generations  of  earlier  funny  men,  j 
were  sometimes  cut  in  the  pattern  of  his  prede* 
sors.  No  doubt,  some  of  the  earliest  of  all  w< 
crude  and  highly  colored,  and  may  even  be  call 
forced,  not  to  say  violent.  No  doubt,  also,  the 
did  not  suggest  the  seriousness  and  the  melanchol] 
which  always  must  underlie  the  deepest  humor,  as 
we  find  it  in  Cervantes  and  Moliere,  in  Swift  and  in 
Lowell.  But  even  a  careless  reader,  skipping 
through  the  book  in  idle  amusement,  ought  to  have 
been  able  to  see  in  *  The  Innocents  Abroad/  that 
the  writer  of  that  liveliest  of  books  of  travel  was  no 
mere  merryandrew,  grinning  through  a  horse-collar 
to  make  sport  for  the  groundlings ;  but  a  sincere  ob 
server  of  life,  seeing  through  his  own  eyes  and  set 
ting  down  what  he  saw  with  abundant  humor,  of 
course,  but  also  with  profound  respect  for  the  eternal 
verities. 

George  Eliot  in  one  of  her  essays  calls  those  who 
parody  lofty  themes  '*  debasers  of  the  moral  cur 
rency."  Mark  Twain  is  always  an  advocate  of  the 
sterling  ethical  standard.  He  is  ready  to  overwhelm 
an  affectation  with  irresistible  laughter,  but  he  never 
lacks  reverence  for  the  things  that  really  deserve 


Biographical  Criticism  xix 

reverence.  It  is  not  at  the  Old  Masters  that  he 
scoffs  in  Italy,  but  rather  at  those  who  pay  lip-ser 
vice  to  things  which  they  neither  enjoy  nor  under 
stand.  For  a  ruin  or  a  painting  or  a  legend  that 
does  not  seem  to  him  to  deserve  the  appreciation  in 
which  it  is  held  he  refuses  to  affect  an  admiration  he 
does  not  feel;  he  cannot  help  being  honest  —  he 
was  born  so.  For  meanness  of  all  kinds  he  has  a 
burning  contempt;  and  on  Abelard  he  pours  out 
the  vials  of  his  wrath.  He  has  a  quick  eye  for  all 
humbugs  and  a  scorching  scorn  for  them ;  but  there 
is  no  attempt  at  being  funny  in  the  manner  of  the 
cockney  comedians  when  he  stands  in  the  awful 
presence  of  the  Sphinx.  He  is  not  taken  in  by 
the  glamour  of  Palestine ;  he  does  not  lose  his  head 
there;  he  keeps  his  feet;  but  he  knows  that  he  is 
standing  on  holy  ground ;  and  there  is  never  a  hint 
of  irreverence  in  his  attitude. 

'  A  Tramp  Abroad '  is  a  better  book  than  '  The 
Innocents  Abroad ' ;  it  is  quite  as  laughter-provok 
ing,  and  its  manner  is  far  more  restrained.  Mark 
Twain  was  then  master  of  his  method,  sure  of  him 
self,  secure  of  his  popularity;  and  he  could  do  his 
best  and  spare  no  pains  to  be  certain  that  it  was  his 
best.  Perhaps  there  is  a  slight  falling  off  in  "  Fol 
lowing  the  Equator ' ;  a  trace  of  fatigue,  of  weari- 


xx  Biographical  Criticism 

ness,  of  disenchantment.  But  the  last  book  of 
travels  has  passages  as  broadly  humorous  as  any  of 
the  first;  and  it  proves  the  author's  possession  of  a 
pithy  shrewdness  not  to  be  suspected  from  a  perusal 
of  its  earliest  predecessor.  The  first  book  was  the 
work  of  a  young  fellow  rejoicing  in  his  own  fun  and 
resolved  to  make  his  readers  laugh  with  him  or  at 
him;  the  latest  book  is  the  work  of  an  older  man, 
who  has  found  that  life  is  not  all  laughter,  but  whose 
eye  is  as  clear  as  ever  and  whose  tongue  is  as  plain- 
spoken. 

These  three  books  of  travel  are  like  all  other  books 
of  travel  in  that  they  relate  in  the  first  person  what 
the  author  went  forth  to  see.  Autobiographic  also 
are  'Roughing  It*  and  'Life  on  the  Mississippi/ 
and  they  have  always  seemed  to  me  better  books 
than  the  more  widely  circulated  travels.  They  are 
better  because  they  are  the  result  of  a  more  intimate 
knowledge  of  the  material  dealt  with.  Every  traveler 
is  of  necessity  but  a  bird  of  passage ;  he  is  a  mere 
carpet-bagger;  his  acquaintance  with  the  countries 
he  visits  is  external  only ;  and  this  acquaintanceship 
is  made  only  when  he  is  a  full-grown  man.  But 
Mark  Twain's  knowledge  of  the  Mississippi  was  ac 
quired  in  his  youth ;  it  was  not  purchased  with  a 
price;  it  was  his  birthright;  and  it  was  internal  and 


Biographical  Criticism  xxi 

complete.  And  his  knowledge  of  the  mining-camp 
was  achieved  in  early  manhood  when  the  mind  ia 
open  and  sensitive  to  every  new  impression.  There 
is  in  both  these  books  a  fidelity  to  the  inner  truth, 
a  certainty  of  touch,  a  sweep  of  vision,  not  to  be 
found  in  the  three  books  of  travels.  For  my  own 
part  1  have  long  thought  that  Mark  Twain  could 
securely  rest  his  right  to  survive  as  an  author  on 
those  opening  chapters  in  '  Life  on  the  Mississippi ' 
in  which  he  makes  clear  the  difficulties,  the  seeming 
impossibilities,  that  fronted  those  who  wished  to 
learn  the  river.  These  chapters  are  bold  and  bril 
liant  ;  and  they  picture  for  us  forever  a  period  and  a 
set  of  conditions,  singularly  interesting  and  splen 
didly  varied,  that  otherwise  would  have  had  to  forego 
all  adequate  record, 

IIL 

It  is  highly  probable  that  when  an  author  reveals 
the  power  of  evoking  views  of  places  and  of  calling 
up  portraits  of  people  such  as  Mark  Twain  showed 
in  '  Life  on  the  Mississippi/  and  when  he  has  the 
masculine  grasp  of  reality  Mark  Twain  made  evident 
in  '  Roughing  It,'  he  must  needs  sooner  or  later 
turn  from  mere  fact  to  avowed  fiction  and  become  a 
story-teller.  The  long  stories  which  Mark  Twain 
has  written  fall  into  two  divisions, —  first,  those  ol 


xxii  Biographical  Criticism 

which  the  scene  is  laid  in  the  present;  in  reality,  and 
mostly  in  the  Mississippi  Valley,  and  second,  those 
of  which  the  scene  is  laid  in  the  past,  in  fantasy 
mostly,  and  in  Europe. 

As  my  own  liking  is  a  little  less  for  the  latter 
group,  there  is  no  need  for  me  now  to  linger  over 
them.  In  writing  these  tales  of  the  past  Mark  Twain 
was  making  up  stories  in  his  head ;  personally  I  pre 
fer  the  tales  of  his  in  which  he  has  his  foot  firm  on 
reality,  *  The  Prince  and  the  Pauper '  has  the 
essence  of  boyhood  in  it ;  it  has  variety  and  vigor ; 
it  has  abundant  humor  and  plentiful  pathos ;  and  yet 
I  for  one  would  give  the  whole  of  it  for  the  single 
chapter  in  which  Tom  Sawyer  lets  the  contract  for 
whitewashing  his  aunt's  fence. 

Mr.  Howells  has  declared  that  there  are  two  kinds 
of  fiction  he  likes  almost  equally  well, — "a  real 
novel  and  a  pure  romance;  "  and  he  joyfully  accepts 
'  A  Connecticut  Yankee  at  King  Arthur's  Court ' 
as  "one  of  the  greatest  romances  ever  imagined." 
It  is  a  humorous  romance  overflowing  with  stalwart 
fun;  and  it  is  not  irreverent  but  iconoclastic,  in  that 
it  breaks  not  a  few  disestablished  idols.  It  is  in 
tensely  American  and  intensely  nineteenth  century 
and  intensely  democratic  —  in  the  best  sense  of  that 
abused  adjective.  The  British  critics  were  greatly 


Biographical  Criticism  xxifl 

displeased  with  the  book; — and  we  are  reminded  of 
the  fact  that  the  Spanish  still  somewhat  resent  '  Don 
Quixote '  because  it  brings  out  too  truthfully  the 
fatal  gap  in  the  Spanish  character  between  the  ideal 
and  the  real.  So  much  of  the  feudal  still  survives  in 
British  society  that  Mark  Twain's  merry  and  eluci 
dating  assault  on  the  past  seemed  to  some  almost  an 
insult  to  the  present. 

But  no  critic,  British  or  American,  has  ventured  to 
discover  any  irreverence  in  'Joan  of  Arc,*  wherein 
indeed  the  tone  is  almost  devout  and  the  humor 
almost  too  much  subdued.  Perhaps  it  is  my  own 
distrust  of  the  so-called  historical  novel,  my  own  dis 
belief  that  it  can  ever  be  anything  but  an  inferior 
form  of  art,  which  makes  me  care  less  for  this  worthy 
effort  to  honor  a  noble  figure.  And  elevated  and 
dignified  as  is  the  4  Joan  of  Arc,'  I  do  not  think 
that  it  shows  us  Mark  Twain  at  his  best ;  although  it 
has  many  a  passage  that  only  he  could  have  written, 
it  is  perhaps  the  least  characteristic  of  his  works. 
Yet  it  may  well  be  that  the  certain  measure  of  success 
he  has  achieved  in  handling  a  subject  so  lofty  and  so 
serious,  will  help  to  open  the  eyes  of  the  public  to 
see  the  solid  merits  of  his  other  stories,  in  which  his 
humor  has  fuller  play  and  in  which  his  natural  gifts 
are  more  abundantly  displayed. 


xxiv  Biographical  Criticism 

Of  these  other  stories  three  are  "  real  novels,"  to 
use  Mr.  Howells's  phrase;  they  are  novels  as  real 
as  any  in  any  literature.  'Tom  Sawyer*  and 
'Huckleberry  Finn*  and  '  Pudd'nhead  Wilson' 
are  invaluable  contributions  to  American  literature 
—  for  American  literature  is  nothing  if  it  is  not  a 
true  picture  of  American  life  and  if  it  does  not  help 
us  to  understand  ourselves.  '  Huckleberry  Finn  '  is 
a  very  amusing  volume,  and  a  generation  has  read 
its  pages  and  laughed  over  it  immoderately ;  but  it 
is  very  much  more  than  a  funny  book;  it  is  a 
marvelously  accurate  portrayal  of  a  whole  civilization. 
Mr.  Ormsby,  in  an  essay  which  accompanies  his 
translation  of  '  Don  Quixote,'  has  pointed  out  that 
for  a  full  century  after  its  publication  that  greatest  of 
novels  was  enjoyed  chiefly  as  a  tale  of  humorous  mis 
adventure,  and  that  three  generations  had  laughed 
over  it  before  anybody  suspected  that  it  was  more 
than  a  mere  funny  book.  It  is  perhaps  rather  with 
the  picaresque  romances  of  Spain  that  '  Huckleberry 
Finn '  is  to  be  compared  than  with  the  masterpiece 
of  Cervantes ;  but  I  do  not  think  it  will  be  a  century 
or  take  three  generations  before  we  Americans  gen 
erally  discover  how  great  a  book  '  Huckleberry 
Finn '  really  is,  how  keen  its  vision  of  character, 
how  close  its  observation  of  life,  how  sound  its 


Biographical  Criticism  xxv 

philosophy,  and  how  it  records  for  us  once  and  for 
all  certain  phases  of  Southwestern  society  which  it  is 
most  important  for  us  to  perceive  and  to  understand. 
The  influence  of  slavery,  the  prevalence  of  feuds, 
the  conditions  and  the  circumstances  that  make 
lynching  possible  —  all  these  things  are  set  before  us 
clearly  and  without  comment.  It  is  for  us  to  draw 
our  own  moral,  each  for  himself,  as  we  do  when  we 
see  Shakespeare  acted. 

'  Huckleberry  Finn,'  in  its  art,  for  one  thing, 
and  also  in  its  broader  range,  is  superior  to  '  Tom 
Sawyer*  and  to  '  Pudd'nhead  Wilson,'  fine  as  both 
these  are  in  their  several  ways.  In  no  book  in  our 
language,  to  my  mind,  has  the  boy,  simply  as  a  boy, 
been  better  realized  than  in  '  Tom  Sawyer.'  In 
some  respects  '  Pudd'nhead  Wilson  '  is  the  most  dra» 
matic  of  Mark  Twain's  longer  stories,  and  also  the 
most  ingenious ;  like  '  Tom  Sawyer  '  and  *  Huckle 
berry  Finn,'  it  has  the  full  flavor  of  the  Mississippi 
River,  on  which  its  author  spent  his  own  boyhood, 
and  from  contact  with  the  soil  of  which  he  always 
rises  reinvigorated. 

It  is  by  these  three  stories,  and  especially  by 
'  Huckleberry  Finn,'  that  Mark  Twain  is  likely  to 
live  longest.  Nowhere  else  is  the  life  of  the  Missis 
sippi  Valley  so  truthfully  recorded.  Nowhere  else 


xxvl  Biographical  Criticism 

can  we  find  a  gallery  of  Southwestern  characters  as 
varied  and  as  veracious  as  those  Huck  Finn  met  in 
his  wanderings.  The  histories  of  literature  all  praise 
the  *  Gil  Bias '  of  Le  Sage  for  its  amusing  adven 
tures,  its  natural  characters,  its  pleasant  humor,  and 
its  insight  into  human  frailty;  and  the  praise  is  de 
served.  But  in  every  one  of  these  qualities  *  Huckle 
berry  Finn*  is  superior  to  'Gil  Bias.'  Le  Sage 
set  the  model  of  the  picaresque  novel,  and  Mark 
Twain  followed  his  example;  but  the  American 
book  is  richer  than  the  French  —  deeper,  finer, 
stronger.  It  would  be  hard  to  find  in  any  language 
better  specimens  of  pure  narrative,  better  examples 
of  the  power  of  telling  a  story  and  of  calling  up 
action  so  that  the  reader  cannot  help  but  see  it,  than 
Mark  Twain's  account  of  the  Shepherdson-Granger- 
ford  feud,  and  his  description  of  the  shooting  of 
Boggs  by  Sherburn  and  of  the  foiled  attempt  to 
lynch  Sherburn  afterward. 

These  scenes,  fine  as  they  are,  vivid,  powerful, 
and  most  artistic  in  their  restraint,  can  be  matched 
in  the  two  other  books.  In  *  Tom  Sawyer '  they 
can  be  paralleled  by  the  chapter  in  which  the  boy  and 
the  girl  are  lost  in  the  cave,  and  Tom,  seeing  a  gleam 
of  light  in  the  distance,  discovers  that  it  is  a  candle 
carried  by  Indian  Joe,  the  one  enemy  he  has  in  the 


Biographical  Criticism  xxvii 

world.  In  '  Pudd'nhead  Wilson  *  the  great  passages 
of  '  Huckleberry  Finn '  are  rivaled  by  that  most 
pathetic  account  of  the  weak  son  willing  to  sell  his 
own  mother  as  a  slave  "*  down  the  river."  Although 
no  one  of  the  books  is  sustained  throughout  on  this 
high  level,  and  although,  in  truth,  there  are  in  each  of 
them  passages  here  and  there  that  we  could  wish  away 
(because  they  are  not  worthy  of  the  association  in 
which  we  find  them),  I  have  no  hesitation  in  express 
ing  here  my  own  conviction  that  the  man  who  has 
given  us  four  scenes  like  these  is  to  be  compared 
with  the  masters  of  literature ;  and  that  he  can  abide 
the  comparison  with  equanimity. 

IV. 

Perhaps  I  myself  prefer  these  three  Mississippi 
Valley  books  above  all  Mark  Twain's  other  writings 
(although  with  no  lack  of  affection  for  those  also) 
partly  because  these  have  the  most  of  the  flavor  of 
the  soil  about  them.  After  veracity  and  the  sense 
of  the  universal,  what  I  best  relish  in  literature  is  this 
native  aroma,  pungent,  homely,  and  abiding.  Yet 
I  feel  sure  that  I  should  not  rate  him  so  high  if 
he  were  the  author  of  these  three  books  only*  They 
are  tlie  best  of  him,  but  the  others  are  good  also, 
and  good  in  a  different  way.  Other  writers  have 


xxviii  Biographical  Criticism 

given  us  this  local  color  more  or  less  artistically, 
more  or  less  convincingly:  one  New  England  and 
another  New  York,  a  third  Virginia,  and  a  fourth 
Georgia,  and  a  fifth  Wisconsin ;  but  who  so  well  as 
Mark  Twain  has  given  us  the  full  spectrum  of  the 
Union?  With  all  his  exactness  in  reproducing  the 
Mississippi  Valley,  Mark  Twain  is  not  sectional  in 
his  outlook ;  he  is  national  always.  He  is  not  narrow ; 
he  is  not  Western  or  Eastern ;  he  is  American  with 
a  certain  largeness  and  boldness  and  freedom  and  cer 
tainty  that  we  like  to  think  of  as  befitting  a  country 
so  vast  as  ours  and  a  people  so  independent. 

In  Mark  Twain  we  have  **  the  national  spirit  as 
seen  with  our  own  eyes,"  declared  Mr.  Howells; 
and,  from  more  points  of  view  than  one,  Mark  Twain 
seems  to  me  to  be  the  very  embodiment  of  Ameri 
canism.  Self-educated  in  the  hard  school  of  life,  he 
has  gone  on  broadening  his  outlook  as  he  has  grown 
older.  Spending  many  years  abroad,  he  has  come 
to  understand  other  nationalities,  without  enfeebling 
his  own  native  faith.  Combining  a  mastery  of  the 
commonplace  with  an  imaginative  faculty,  he  is  a 
practical  idealist.  No  respecter  of  persons,  he  has  a 
tender  regard  for  his  fellow  man.  Irreverent  toward 
all  outworn  superstitions,  he  has  ever  revealed  the 
deepest  respect  for  all  things  truly  worthy  of  rever- 


Biographical  Criticism  xxix 

ence.  Unwilling  to  take  pay  in  words,  he  is  im 
patient  always  to  get  at  the  root  of  the  matter,  to 
pierce  to  the  center,  to  see  the  thing  as  it  is.  He 
has  a  habit  of  standing  upright,  of  thinking  for  him 
self,  and  of  hitting  hard  at  whatsoever  seems  to  him 
hateful  and  mean ;  but  at  the  core  of  him  there  is 
genuine  gentleness  and  honest  sympathy,  brave 
humanity  and  sweet  kindliness.  Perhaps  it  is  boast 
ful  for  us  to  think  that  these  characteristics  which  we 
see  in  Mark  Twain  are  characteristics  also  of  the 
American  people  as  a  whole ;  but  it  is  pleasant  to 
think  so. 

Mark  Twain  has  the  very  marrow  of  Americanism. 
He  is  as  intensely  and  as  typically  American  as 
Franklin  or  Emerson  or  Hawthorne.  He  has  not  a 
little  of  the  shrewd  common  sense  and  the  homely 
and  unliterary  directness  of  Franklin.  He  is  not 
without  a  share  of  the  aspiration  and  the  elevation 
of  Emerson ;  and  he  has  a  philosophy  of  his  own  as 
optimistic  as  Emerson's.  He  possesses  also  some 
what  of  Hawthorne's  interest  in  ethical  problems, 
with  something  of  the  same  power  of  getting  at  the 
heart  of  them;  he,  too,  has  written  his  parables  and 
apologues  wherein  the  moral  is  obvious  and  un- 
obtruded.  He  is  uncompromisingly  honest;  and  his 
conscience  is  as  rugged  as  his  style  sometimes  is. 

3 


xxx  Biographical  Criticism 

No  American  author  has  to-day  at  his  command  a 
style  more  nervous,  more  varied,  more  flexible,  or 
more  various  than  Mark  Twain's.  His  colloquial 
ease  should  not  hide  from  us  his  mastery  of  all  the 
devices  of  rhetoric.  He  may  seem  to  disobey  the 
letter  of  the  law  sometimes,  but  he  is  always  obedient 
to  the  spirit.  He  never  speaks  unless  he  has  some 
thing  to  say;  and  then  he  says  it  tersely,  sharply, 
with  a  freshness  of  epithet  and  an  individuality  of 
phrase,  always  accurate  however  unacademic.  His 
vocabulary  is  enormous,  and  it  is  deficient  only  in 
the  dead  words;  his  language  is  alive  always,  and 
actually  tingling  with  vitality.  He  rejoices  in  the 
daring  noun  and  in  the  audacious  adjective.  His  in 
stinct  for  the  exact  word  is  not  always  unerring,  and 
now  and  again  he  has  failed  to  exercise  it ;  but  there 
is  in  his  prose  none  of  the  flatting  and  sharping  he 
censured  in  Fenimore  Cooper's.  His  style  has 
none  of  the  cold  perfection  of  an  antique  statue ;  it  is 
too  modern  and  too  American  for  that,  and  too  com 
pletely  the  expression  of  the  man  himself,  sincere 
and  straightforward.  It  is  not  free  from  slang, 
although  this  is  far  less  frequent  than  one  might  ex 
pect  ;  but  it  does  its  work  swiftly  and  cleanly.  And 
it  is  capable  of  immense  variety.  Consider  the  tale 
of  the  Blue  Jay  in  'A  Tramp  Abroad/  wherein  the 


Biographical  Criticism 

humor  is  sustained  by  unstated  pathos ;  what  could 
be  better  told  than  this,  with  every  word  the  right 
word  and  in  the  right  place?  And  take  Huck  Finn's 
description  of  the  storm  when  he  was  alone  on  the 
island,  which  is  in  dialect,  which  will  not  parse,  which 
bristles  with  double  negatives,  but  which  none  the 
less  is  one  of  the  finest  passages  of  descriptive  prose 
in  all  American  literature. 

V. 

After  all,  it  is  as  a  humorist  pure  and  simple  that 
Mark  Twain  is  best  known  and  best  beloved.  In 
the  preceding  pages  I  have  tried  to  point  out  the 
several  ways  in  which  he  transcends  humor,  as  the 
word  is  commonly  restricted,  and  to  show  that  he  is 
no  mere  fun-maker.  But  he  is  a  fun-maker  beyond 
all  question,  and  he  has  made  millions  laugh  as  no 
other  man  of  our  century  has  done.  The  laughter 
he  has  aroused  is  wholesome  and  self-respecting ;  it 
clears  the  atmosphere.  For  this  we  cannot  but  be 
grateful.  As  Lowell  said,  "  let  us  not  be  ashamed 
to  confess  that,  if  we  find  the  tragedy  a  bore,  we 
take  the  profoundest  satisfaction  in  the  farce.  It  is 
a  mark  of  sanity."  There  is  no  laughter  in  Don 
Quixote,  the  noble  enthusiast  whose  wits  are  un 
settled;  and  there  is  little  on  the  lips  of  Alceste  the 

3 


xxxh  Biographical  Onticism 

misanthrope  of  Moliere;  but  for  both  of  them  life 
would  have  been  easier  had  they  known  how  to 
laugh.  Cervantes  himself,  and  Moliere  also,  found 
relief  in  laughter  for  their  melancholy;  and  it  was 
the  sense  of  humor  which  kept  them  tolerantly  inter 
ested  in  the  spectacle  of  humanity,  although  life  had 
pressed  hardly  on  them  both.  On  Mark  Twain  also 
life  has  left  its  scars;  but  he  has  bound  up  his 
wounds  and  battled  forward  with  a  stout  heart,  as 
Cervantes  did,  and  Moliere.  It  was  Moliere  who 
declared  that  it  was  a  strange  business  to  undertake 
to  make  people  laugh;  but  even  now,  after  two 
centuries,  when  the  best  of  Moliere's  plays  are  acted, 
mirth  breaks  out  again  and  laughter  overflows. 

It  would  be  doing  Mark  Twain  a  disservice  to  liken 
him  to  Moliere,  the  greatest  comic  dramatist  of  all 
time ;  and  yet  there  is  more  than  one  point  of  sim 
ilarity.  Just  as  Mark  Twain  began  by  writing  comic 
copy  which  contained  no  prophecy  of  a  master 
piece  like  4  Huckleberry  Finn/  so  Moliere  was  at 
first  the  author  only  of  semi-acrobatic  farces  on  the 
Italian  model  in  no  wise  presaging  '  Tartuffe '  and 
1  The  Misanthrope/  Just  as  Moliere  succeeded  first 
of  all  in  pleasing  the  broad  public  that  likes  robust 
fun,  and  then  slowly  and  step  by  step  developed  into 
a  dramatist  who  set  on  the  stage  enduring  figures 


Biographical  Criticism  xxxifi 

plucked  out  of  the  abounding  life  about  him,  so 
also  has  Mark  Twain  grown,  ascending  from 
The  Jumping  Frog '  to  '  Huckleberry  Finn,'  as 
comic  as  its  elder  brother  and  as  laughter-provoking, 
but  charged  also  with  meaning  and  with  philosophy. 
And  like  Moliere  again,  Mark  Twain  has  kept  solid 
hold  of  the  material  world ;  his  doctrine  is  not  of  the 
earth  earthy,  but  it  is  never  sublimated  into  senti 
mentality.  He  sympathizes  with  the  spiritual  side 
of  humanity,  while  never  ignoring  the  sensual. 
Like  Moliere,  Mark  Twain  takes  his  stand  on  com 
mon  sense  and  thinks  scorn  of  affectation  of  every 
sort.  He  understands  sinners  and  strugglers  and 
weaklings;  and  he  is  not  harsh  with  them,  reserving 
his  scorching  hatred  for  hypocrites  and  pretenders 
and  frauds. 

At  how  long  an  interval  Mark  Twain  shall  be  rated 
after  Moliere  and  Cervantes  it  is  for  the  future  to 
declare.  All  that  we  can  see  clearly  now  is  that  it  is 
with  them  that  he  is  to  be  classed, —  with  Moliere 
and  Cervantes,  with  Chaucer  and  Fielding,  humorists 
all  of  them,  and  all  of  them  manly  men. 


PREFACE 

TO 

THE   UNIFORM  EDITION 


FAR  as  I  remember,  I  have  never  seen  an 
Author's  Preface  which  had  any  purpose  but  one 
—  to  furnish  reasons  for  the  publication  of  the  book. 
Prefaces  wear  many  disguises,  call  themselves  by 
various  names,  and  pretend  to  come  on  various 
businesses,  but  I  think  that  upon  examination  we  are 
quite  sure  to  find  that  their  errand  is  always  the  same  : 
they  are  there  to  apologise  for  the  book ;  in  other  words, 
furnish  reasons  for  its  publication.  This  often  insures 
brevity. 

Upon  these  terms,  if  there  is  nothing  to  explain  or 
nothing  worth  the  explanation,  there  is  no  occasion  for 
a  Preface ;  there  is  nothing  for  it  to  do  —  except  to 
explain  its  own  presence,  apologise  for  its  intrusion. 
That  is  what  this  present  Preface  does. 

When  the  books  in  this  collection  appeared  in  print 
originallyt  most  of  them  had  Prefaces  which  furnished 
reasons  for  publication.  Those  Introductions  will  be 

3»  (xxxr) 


xxxvi  Preface 

found  in  their  places,  and  need  not  be  repeated  here. 
Tbe  jurisdiction  of  tbe  present  Preface  is  restricted  to 
furnishing  reasons  for  tbe  publication  of  tbe  Collection 
as  a  whole.  This  is  not  easy  to  do.  Aside  from  tbe 
ordinary  commercial  reasons  I  find  none  that  I  can  offer 
with  dignify.  I  cannot  say  without  immodesty  that  the 
books  have  merit ;  I  cannot  say  without  immodesty  that 
the  public  want  a  Uniform  Edition ;  I  cannot  say  with- 
out  immodesty  that  a  Uniform  Edition  will  turn  the 
nation  toward  high  ideals  and  elevated  thought;  I  can 
not  say  without  immodesty  that  a  Uniform  Edition  will 
eradicate  crime.  Though  I  think  it  will.  I  find  no 
reason  which  I  can  offer  without  immodesty  except  tbe 
rather  poor  one  that  I  should  like  to  see  a  Uniform 
Edition  myself.  It  is  nothing;  a  cat  could  say  it  about 
her  kittens.  Still,  I  believe  I  will  stand  upon  that. 
I  have  to  have  a  Preface  and  a  reason,  by  law  of  cus 
tom,  and  the  reason  which  I  am  putting  forward  is  at 
least  without  offense. 

MARK  TWAIN. 
Vienna,  January,  2899. 


PREFACE 


THIS  book  is  a  record  of  a  pleasure  trip.  If  it 
were  a  record  of  a  solemn  scientific  expedition,  it 
would  have  about  it  that  gravity,  that  profundity, 
and  that  impressive  incomprehensibility  which  are 
so  proper  to  works  of  that  kind,  and  withal  so  attrac 
tive.  Yet  notwithstanding  it  is  only  a  record  of  a 
picnic,  it  has  a  purpose,  which  is,  to  suggest  to  the 
reader  how  he  would  be  likely  to  see  Europe  and  the 
East  if  he  looked  at  them  with  his  own  eyes  instead 
of  the  eyes  of  those  who  traveled  in  those  countries 
before  him.  I  make  small  pretence  of  showing  any 
one  how  he  ought  to  look  at  objects  of  interest  be 
yond  the  sea  —  other  books  do  that,  and  therefore, 
even  if  I  were  competent  to  doit,  there  is  no  need. 

I  offer  no  apologies  for  any  departures  from  the 
usual  style  of  travel- writing  that  may  be  Charged 
against  me  —  for  I  think  I  have  seen  with  impartial 
eyes,  and  I  am  sure  I  have  written  at  least  honestly, 
whether  wisely  or  not. 

In  this  volume  I  have  used  portions  of  letters  which 
I  wrote  for  the  Daily  Alta  California,  of  San  Fran- 

(xxxvii) 


xxxviii  Preface 

Cisco,  the  proprietors  of  that  journal  having  waived 
their  rights  and  given  me  the  necessary  permission. 

I  have  also  inserted  portions  of  several  letters 
written  for  the  New  York  Tribune  and  the  New  York 
Herald. 

THE  AUTHOR. 

SAN  FRANCISCO. 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


PORTRAITS,  1853,  1868       .....  • ...   f*    •       •        Frontispiece 

THE  DAME  LOOKED  PERPLEXED  .        Peter  Newell       .       .       *39 
*  IS  HE  DEAD?" Peter  Newell       .       .       372 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

Popular  Talk  of  the  Excursion — Programme  of  the  Trip — Duly 
Ticketed  for  the  Excursion— Defection  of  the  Celebrities  .  .  45 

CHAPTER  II. 

Grand  Preparations — An  Imposing  Dignitary  —  The  European 
Exodus  —  Mr.  Blucher's  Opinion  —  Stateroom  No.  10  —  The 
Assembling  of  the  Clans — At  Sea  at  Last 54 

CHAPTER  III. 

"Averaging"  the  Passengers—  " Far,  far  at  Sea "  —  Tribulation 
among  the  Patriarchs  —  Seeking  Amusement  under  Difficulties 
—  Five  Captains  in  the  Ship 60 

CHAPTER  IV. 

Pilgrim  Life  at  Sea  —  The  "  Synagogue  "  —  Jack's  "  Journal >f  — 
The  "Q.  C.  dub"  —State  Ball  on  Deck  — Mock  Trials  — 
Pilgrim  Solemnity —  Executive  Officer  Delivers  an  Opinion  .  66 

CHAPTER  V. 

An  Eccentric  Moon— The  Mystery  of  "  Ship  Tune  "  —  The  Deni- 
zens  of  the  Deep — The  First  Landing  on  a  Foreign  Shore  — 
The  Azores  Islands — Blucher's  Disastrous  Dinner  ....  77 

CHAPTER  VI. 

A  Fossil  Community — Curious  Ways  and  Customs — Jesuit  Hum- 
buggery —  Fantastic  Pilgrimizing — Origin  of  the  Russ  Pave 
ment —  Squaring  Accounts  with  the  Fossils — At  Sea  Again  .  86 


xlii  Contents 

CHAPTER  VII. 

Spain  and  Africa  on  Exhibition — The  Pillars  of  Hercules — The 
Rock  of  Gibraltar—  "  The  Queen's  Chair  "  —  A  Private  Frolic 
in  Africa — Disembarking  in  the  Empire  of  Morocco  •  •  •  95 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

The  Ancient  City  of  Tangier,  Morocco — Strange  Sights — A  Cradle 
of  Antiquity  —  We  Become  Wealthy  —  How  They  Rob  the  Mail 
in  Africa — Danger  of  being  Opulent  in  Morocco 113 

CHAPTER  IX. 

A  Pilgrim  in  Deadly  Peril  — How  They  Mended  the  Clock  — 
Moorish  Punishments  for  Crime  —  Shrewdness  Df  Mohamme 
dan  Pilgrims  —  Reverence  for  Cats  —  Bliss  of  being  a  Consul- 
General 121 

CHAPTER  X. 

A  Mediterranean  Sunset  —  The  "Oracle"  is  Delivered  of  an  Opin 
ion  —  France  in  Sight  —  The  Ignorant  Native  —  In  Marseilles 
—  Lost  in  the  Great  City — A  Frenchy  Scene 130 

CHAPTER  XI. 

Getting  "Used  to  it"— No  Soap— Table  d'hote— A  Curious 
Discovery  —  The  "  Pilgrim  "  Bird  —  A  Long  Captivity —  Some 
of  Dumas'  Heroes  —  Dungeon  of  the  Famous  "  Iron  Mask  "  140 

CHAPTER  XII. 

A  Holiday  Flight  through  France —  Peculiarities  of  French  Cars  — 
Why  there  are  no  Accidents  —  The  "  Old  Travelers  •'  —  Still 
on  the  Wing  —  Paris  at  Last  —  Seeing  the  Sights  ....  148 

CHAPTER  XIII. 

Monsieur  Billfinger  —  Re-christening  the  Frenchman  —  In  the 
Clutches  of  a  Paris  Guide  —  The  International  Exposition  — 
Military  Review  —  Napoleon  and  the  Sultan  of  Turkey  .  .  .163 

CHAPTER  XIV. 

The  Cathedral  of  Notre-Dame  —Treasures  and  Sacred  Relics  — 
The  Morgue  —  The  Outrageous  Can-can  —  The  Louvre  Pal 
ace —  The  Great  Park  —  Preservation  of  Noted  Things  .  .  .177 


Contents 

CHAPTER  XV. 

French  National  Burying-ground — The  Story  of  Abelard  and 
Heloise  —  "  English  Spoken  Here  "  —  Imperial  Honors  to  an 
American — The  Over-estimated  Grisette  —  Leaving  Paris  .  .188 

CHAPTER  XVI. 

Versailles  —  Paradise  Regained — A  Wonderful  Park  —  Paradise 

Lost  — Napoleonic  Strategy 204 

CHAPTER  XVII. 

Italy  in  Sight  — The  "City  of  Palaces  "  —  Beauty  of  the  Genoese 
Women — Gifted  Guide  —  Church  Magnificence — How  the 
Genoese  Live  —  Massive  Architecture  —  Graves  for  60,000  ,  21 1 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 

Flying  through  Italy  —  Marengo  — Some  Wonders  of  the  Famous 
Cathedral  —  An  Unpleasant  Adventure  —  Tons  of  Gold  and 
Silver  —  Holy  Relics  —  Solomon's  Temple  Rivaled  .  .  .  225 

CHAPTER  XIX. 

La  Scala — Ingenious  Frescoes  —  Ancient  Roman  Amphitheater — 
The  Chief  Charm  of  European  Life  —  An  Italian  Bath  —  The 
Most  Celebrated  Painting  in  the  World  — A  Kiss  for  a  Franc  .  237 

CHAPTER  XX. 

Rural  Italy  by  Rail— Fumigated,  According  to  Law  — The  Sor- 
rowing  Englishman— The  Famous  Lake  Como  —  Its  Scenery 
—  Como  Compared  with  Tahoe  —  Meeting  a  Shipmate  •  •  256 

CHAPTER  XXI. 

The  Pretty  Lago  di  Lecco  —  A  Carriage  Drive  in  the  Country  —  A 
Sleepy  Land — Bloody  Shrines  —  The  Heart  and  Home  of 
Priestcraft  —  Birthplace  of  Harlequin  —  Approaching  Venice  .  266 

CHAPTER  XXII. 

Night  in  Venice  —The  "  Gay  Gondolier  "  —The  Grand  Fete  by 
Moonlight  —  The  Notable  Sights  of  Venice — The  Mother  of 
the  Republics  Desolate 278 


xliv  Contents 

CHAPTER  XXIII. 

The  Famous  Gondola  —  Great  Square  of  St.  Mark  and  Winged 
Lion  —  Snobs,  at  Home  and  Abroad  —  Sepulchres  of  the  Great 
Dead  —  A  Tilt  at  the  "  Old  Masters  "  —  Moving  Again  .  .  293 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 

Through  Italy  by  Rail  —  Idling  in  Florence  —  Wonderful  Mosaics  — 
Tower  of  Pisa  —  Ancient  Duomo  —  The  Original  Pendulum  — 
A  New  Holy  Sepulchre  —  Leghorn  —  Gen.  Garibaldi  .  .  .312 

CHAFFER  XXV. 

Railway  Grandeur — The  Sumptuousness  of  Mother  Church  —  Mag 
nificence  and  Misery — General  Execration  —  A  Good  Word 
for  the  Priests— Civita  Vecchia  the  Dismal  — Off  for  Rome  .  325 

CHAPTER  XXVI. 

The  Grandeur  of  St.  Peter's—  Holy  Relics  — Grand  View  from  the 
Dome  —  The  Holy  Inquisition  —  Monkish  Frauds — The  Coli 
seum —  Ancient  Plav-bill  of  a  Coliseum  Performance  .  .  .338 

CHAPTER  XXVII. 

"  Butchered  to  Make  a  Roman  Holiday  "  — An  Exasperating  Sub 
ject —  Asinine  Guides — The  Roman  Catacombs  —  The  Saint 
•who  Burst  his  Ribs  —  Miracle  of  the  Bleeding  Heart  .  .  .361 


THE  INNOCENTS  ABROAD 


CHAPTER  I. 

r.R  months  the  great  Pleasure  Excursion  to 
Europe  and  the  Holy  Land  was  chatted  about 
In  the  newspapers  everywhere  in  America,  and  dis 
cussed  at  countless  firesides.  It  was  a  novelty  in  the 
way  of  excursions  —  its  like  had  not  been  thought 
of  before,  and  it  compelled  that  interest  which  attrac 
tive  novelties  always  command.  It  was  to  be  a  pic 
nic  on  a  gigantic  scale.  The  participants  in  it,  in 
stead  of  freighting  an  ungainly  steam  ferry-boat  with 
youth  and  beauty  and  pies  and  doughnuts,  and  pad 
dling  up  some  obscure  creek  to  disembark  upon  a 
grassy  lawn  and  wear  themselves  out  with  a  long 
summer  day's  laborious  frolicking  under  the  impres 
sion  that  it  was  fun,  were  to  sail  away  in  a  great 
steamship  with  flags  flying  and  cannon  pealing,  and 
take  a  royal  holiday  beyond  the  broad  ocean,  in 
many  a  strange  clime  and  in  many  a  land  renowned 
in  history !  They  were  to  sail  for  months  over  the 
breezy  Atlantic  and  the  sunny  Mediterranean ;  they 
were  to  scamper  about  the  decks  by  day,  filling  the 
ship  with  shouts  and  laughter  —  or  read  novels  and 
poetry  in  the  shade  of  the  smoke-stacks,  or  watch 
*  (45) 


46  The  Innocents  Abroad 

for  the  jelly-fish  and  the  nautilus,  over  the  side,  and 
the  shark,  the  whale,  and  other  strange  monsters  of 
the  deep ;  and  at  night  they  were  to  dance  in  the 
open  air,  on  the  upper  deck,  in  the  midst  of  a  ball 
room  that  stretched  from  horizon  to  horizon,  and 
was  domed  by  the  bending  heavens  and  lighted  by 
no  meaner  lamps  than  the  stars  and  the  magnificent 
moon  —  dance,  and  promenade,  and  smoke,  and 
sing,  and  make  love,  and  search  the  skies  for  con 
stellations  that  never  associate  with  the  "Big 
Dipper"  they  were  so  tired  of :  and  they  were  to 
see  the  ships  of  twenty  navies  —  the  customs  and 
costumes  of  twenty  curious  peoples  —  the  great 
cities  of  half  a  world  —  they  were  to  hobnob  with 
nobility  and  hold  friendly  converse  with  kings  and 
princes,  Grand  Moguls,  and  the  anointed  lords  of 
mighty  empires ! 

It  was  a  brave  conception ;  it  was  the  offspring  of 
a  most  ingenious  brain.  It  was  well  advertised,  but 
it  hardly  needed  it:  the  bold  originality,  the  extraor 
dinary  character,  the  seductive  nature,  and  the 
vastness  of  the  enterprise  provoked  comment  every 
where  and  advertised  it  in  every  household  in  the 
land.  Who  could  read  the  program  of  the  excur 
sion  without  longing  to  make  one  of  the  party?  I 
will  insert  it  here.  It  is  almost  as  good  as  a  map. 
As  a  text  for  this  book,  nothing  could  be  better; 


The  Innocents  Abroad  47 

EXCURSION  TO  THE  HOLY  LAND,  EGYPT,  THE  CRIMEA, 
GREECE,  AND  INTERMEDIATE  POINTS  OF  INTEREST. 

BROOKLYN,  Fcbmary  isty  1867. 

The  undersigned  will  make  an  excursion  as  above  during  the  coming 
season,  and  begs  to  submit  to  you  the  following  programme : 

A  first-class  steamer,  to  be  under  his  own  command,  and  capable  of 
accommodating  at  least  one  hundred  and  fifty  cabin  passengers,  will  be 
selected,  in  which  will  be  taken  a  select  company,  numbering  not  more 
than  three-fourths  of  the  ship's  capacity.  There  is  good  reason  to 
believe  that  this  company  can  be  easily  made  up  in  this  immediate 
vicinity,  of  mutual  friends  and  acquaintances. 

The  steamer  will  be  provided  with  every  necessary  comfort,  includ 
ing  library  and  musical  instruments. 

An  experienced  physician  will  be  on  board. 

Leaving  New  York  about  June  1st,  a  middle  and  pleasant  route  will 
be  taken  across  the  Atlantic,  and,  passing  through  the  group  of  Azores, 
St.  Michael  will  be  reached  in  about  ten  days.  A  day  or  two  will  be 
spent  here,  enjoying  the  fruit  and  wild  scenery  of  these  islands,  and  the 
voyage  continued,  and  Gibraltar  reached  hi  three  or  four  days. 

A  day  or  two  will  be  spent  here  in  looking  over  the  wonderful  sub 
terraneous  fortifications,  permission  to  visit  these  galleries  being  readily 
obtained. 

From  Gibraltar,  running  along  the  coasts  of  Spain  and  France, 
Marseilles  will  be  reached  in  three  days.  Here  ample  time  will  be  given 
not  only  to  look  over  the  city,  which  was  founded  six  hundred  years 
before  the  Christian  era,  and  its  artificial  port,  the  finest  of  the  kind  in 
the  Mediterranean,  but  to  visit  Paris  during  the  Great  Exhibition ;  and 
the  beautiful  city  of  Lyons,  lying  intermediate,  from  the  heights  of 
which,  on  a  clear  day,  Mont  Blanc  and  the  Alps  can  be  distinctly  seen. 
Passengers  who  may  wish  to  extend  the  time  at  Paris  can  do  so,  and, 
passing  down  through  Switzerland,  rejoin  the  steamer  at  Genoa. 

From  Marseilles  to  Genoa  is  a  run  of  one  night.  The  excursionists 
will  have  an  opportunity  to  look  over  this,  the  "  magnificent  city  of 
palaces,"  and  visit  the  birthplace  of  Columbus,  twelve  miles  off,  over  a 
beautiful  road  built  by  Napoleon  I.  From  this  point,  excursions  may 
be  made  to  Milan,  Lakes  Como  and  Maggiore,  or  to  Milan,  Verona 
(famous  for  its  extraordinary  fortifications),  Padua,  and  Venice.  Or,  if 
passengers  desire  to  visit  Palma  (famous  for  Correggio's  frescoes)  and 


48  The  Innocents  Abroad 

Bologna,  they  can  by  rail  go  on  to  Florence,  and  rejoin  the  steamer  at 
Leghorn,  thus  spending  about  three  weeks  amid  the  cities  most  famous 
for  art  in  Italy. 

From  Genoa  the  run  to  Leghorn  will  be  made  along  the  coast  in  one 
night,  and  time  appropriated  to  this  point  in  which  to  visit  Florence,  its 
palaces  and  galleries;  Pisa,  its  Cathedral  and  "Leaning  Tower,"  and 
Lucca  and  its  baths  and  Roman  amphitheater;  Florence,  the  most 
remote,  being  distant  by  rail  about  sixty  miles. 

From  Leghorn  to  Naples  (calling  at  Civita  Vecchia  to  land  any  who 
may  prefer  to  go  to  Rome  from  that  point)  the  distance  will  be  made  in 
about  thirty-six  hours ;  the  route  will  lay  along  the  coast  of  Italy,  close 
by  Caprera,  Elba,  and  Corsica.  Arrangements  have  been  made  to  take 
on  board  at  Leghorn  a  pilot  for  Caprera,  and,  if  practicable,  a  call  will 
be  made  there  to  visit  the  home  of  Garibaldi. 

Roma  (by  rail),  Herculaneum,  Pompeii,  Vesuvius,  Virgil's  tomb, 
and  possibly,  the  ruins  of  Paestum,  can  be  visited,  as  well  as  the  beauti 
ful  surroundings  of  Naples  and  its  charming  bay. 

The  next  point  of  interest  will  be  Palermo,  the  most  beautiful  city  of 
Sicily,  which  will  be  reached  in  one  night  from  Naples.  A  day  will  be 
spent  here,  and,  leaving  in  the  evening,  the  course  will  be  taken  towards 
Athens. 

Skirting  along  the  north  coast  of  Sicily,  passing  through  the  group 
of  JEolian  Isles,  in  sight  of  Stromboli  and  Vulcania,  both  active  volca 
noes,  through  the  Straits  of  Messina,  with  "Scylla"  on  the  one  hand 
and  "Charybdis"  on  the  other,  along  the  east  coast  of  Sicily,  and  in 
sight  of  Mount  ^Etna,  along  the  south  coast  of  Italy,  the  west  and  south 
coast  of  Greece,  in  sight  of  ancient  Crete,  up  Athens  Gulf,  and  into  the 
Piraeus,  Athens  will  be  reached  in  two  and  a  half  or  three  days.  After 
tarrying  here  awhile,  the  Bay  of  Salamis  will  be  crossed,  and  a  day  given 
to  Corinth,  whence  the  voyage  will  be  continued  to  Constantinople, 
passing  on  the  way  through  the  Grecian  Archipelago,  the  Dardanelles, 
the  Sea  of  Marmora,  and  the  mouth  of  the  Golden  Horn,  and  arriving 
in  about  forty-eight  hours  from  Athens. 

After  leaving  Constantinople,  the  way  will  be  taken  out  through  the 
beautiful  Bosphorus,  across  the  Black  Sea  to  Sebastopol  and  Balaklava, 
a  run  o!  about  twenty-four  hours.  Here  it  is  proposed  to  remain  two 
days,  visiting  the  harbors,  fortifications,  and  battlefields  of  the  Crimea  ; 
thence  back  through  the  Bosphorus,  touching  at  Constantinople  to  take 
in  any  who  may  have  preferred  to  remain  there ;  down  through  the  Sea 


The  Innocents  Abroad  49 

of  Marmora  and  the  Dardanelles,  along  the  coasts  of  ancient  Troy  and 
Lydia  in  Asia,  to  Smyrna,  which  will  be  reached  in  two  or  two  and  a  hall 
days  from  Constantinople.  A  sufficient  stay  will  be  made  here  to  give 
opportunity  of  visiting  Ephesus,  fifty  miles  distant  by  rail. 

From  Smyrna  towards  the  Holy  Land  the  course  will  lay  through  the 
Grecian  Archipelago,  close  by  the  Isle  of  Patmos,  along  the  coast  of 
Asia,  ancient  Pamphylia,  and  the  Isle  of  Cyprus.  Beirout  will  be  reached 
in  three  days.  At  Beirout  time  will  be  given  to  visit  Damascus ;  after 
which  the  steamer  will  proceed  to  Joppa. 

From  Joppa,  Jerusalem,  the  River  Jordan,  the  Sea  of  Tiberias, 
Nazareth,  Bethany,  Bethlehem,  and  other  points  of  interest  in  the  Holy 
Land  can  be  visited,  and  here  those  who  may  have  preferred  to  make 
the  journey  from  Beirout  through  the  country,  passing  through  Damas 
cus,  Galilee,  Capernaum,  Samaria,  and  by  the  River  Jordan  and  Sea  of 
Tiberias,  can  rejoin  the  steamer. 

Leaving  Joppa,  the  next  point  of  interest  to  visit  will  be  Alexandria, 
which  will  be  reached  in  twenty- four  hours.  The  ruins  of  Caesar's 
Palace,  Pompey's  Pillar,  Cleopatra's  Needle,  the  Catacombs,  and  ruins 
of  ancient  Alexandria,  Mill  be  found  worth  the  visit.  The  journey  to 
Cairo,  one  hundred  and  thirty  miles  by  rail,  can  be  made  in  a  few  hours, 
and  from  which  can  be  visited  the  site  of  ancient  Memphis,  Joseph's 
Granaries,  and  the  Pyramids. 

From  Alexandria  the  route  will  be  taken  homeward,  calling  at  Malta, 
Cagliari  (in  Sardinia),  and  Palma  (in  Majorca),  all  magnificent  harbors, 
with  charming  scenery,  and  abounding  in  fruits. 

A  day  or  two  will  be  spent  at  each  place,  and  leaving  Palma  in  the 
evening,  Valencia  in  Spain  will  be  reached  the  next  morning.  A  few 
days  will  be  spent  in  this,  the  finest  city  of  Spain. 

From  Valencia,  the  homeward  course  will  be  continued,  skirting 
along  the  coast  of  Spain.  Alicante,  Carthagena,  Palos,  and  Malaga 
will  be  passed  but  a  mile  or  two  distant,  and  Gibraltar  reached  in  about 
twenty- four  hours. 

A  stay  of  one  day  will  be  made  here,  and  the  voyage  continued  to 
Madeira,  which  will  be  reached  in  about  three  days.  Captain  Marryatt 
writes:  "  I  do  not  know  a  spot  on  the  globe  which  so  much  astonishes 
and  delights  upon  first  arrival  as  Madeira."  A  stay  of  one  or  two  days 
will  be  made  here,  which,  if  time  permits,  may  be  extended,  and  passing 
on  through  the  islands,  and  probably  in  sight  of  the  Peak  of  Teneriffe,  a 
southern  track  will  be  taken,  and  the  Atlantic  crossed  within  the  latitudes 
4. 


50  The  Innocents  Abroad 

of  the  Northeast  trade  winds,  where  mild  and  pleasant  weather  and  a 
smooth  sea  can  always  be  expected. 

A  call  will  be  made  at  Bermuda,  which  lies  directly  in  this  route 
homeward,  and  will  be  reached  in  about  ten  days  from  Madeira,  and 
after  spending  a  short  time  with  our  friends  the  Bermudians,  the  final 
departure  will  be  made  for  home,  which  will  be  reached  in  about  three 
days. 

Already,  applications  have  been  received  from  parties  in  Europe 
wishing  to  join  the  Excursion  there. 

The  ship  will  at  all  times  be  a  home,  where  the  excursionists,  if  sick, 
will  be  surrounded  by  kind  friends,  and  have  all  possible  comfort  and 
sympathy. 

Should  contagious  sickness  exist  in  any  of  the  ports  named  in  the 
programme,  such  ports  will  be  passed,  and  others  of  interest  substituted. 

The  price  of  passage  is  fixed  at  $1,250,  currency,  for  each  adult 
passenger.  Choice  of  rooms  and  of  seats  at  the  tables  apportioned  in 
the  order  in  which  passages  are  engaged,  and  no  passage  considered 
engaged  until  ten  per  cent,  of  the  passage  money  is  deposited  with  the 
treasurer. 

Passengers  can  remain  on  board  of  the  steamer  at  all  ports,  if  they 
desire,  without  additional  expense,  and  all  boating  at  the  expense  of 
the  ship. 

All  passages  must  be  paid  for  when  taken,  in  order  that  the  most 
perfect  arrangements  be  made  for  starting  at  the  appointed  time. 

Applications  for  passage  must  be  approved  by  the  committee  before 
tickets  are  issued,  and  can  be  made  to  the  undersigned. 

Articles  of  interest  or  curiosity,  procured  by  the  passengers  during 
the  voyage,  may  be  brought  home  in  the  steamer  free  of  charge. 

Five  dollars  per  day,  in  geld,  it  is  believed,  will  be  a  fair  calculation 
to  make  for  all  traveling  expenses  on  shore,  and  at  the  various  points 
where  passengers  may  wish  to  leave  the  steamer  for  days  at  a  time. 

The  tnp  can  be  extended,  and  the  route  changed,  by  unanimous 
vote  of  the  passengers. 

CHAS.  C,  DUNCAN, 

1 1 7  WALL  STREET,  NEW  YORK. 
R.  R.  G*****»,  Treasurer. 

COMMITTEE  ON  APPLICATIONS. 
J.  T.  H»***«»,  ESQ.,        R.  R.  G******,  ESQ.,        C.  C.  DUNCAN. 


The  Innocents  Abroad  51 

COMMITTEE  ON  SELECTING  STEAMER. 

OPT.  W.  W.  S******,  Surveyor  for  Board  of  Underwriters. 
C.  W.  C******,  Consulting  Engineer  for  U.  S.  and  Canada. 
J.  T.  H******,  ESQ. 
C.  C.  DUNCAN. 

P.  S. — The  very  beautiful  and  substantial  side-wheel  steamship 
"Quaker  City"  has  been  chartered  for  the  occasion,  and  will  leave 
New  York,  June  8th.  Letters  have  been  issued  by  the  government 
commending  the  party  to  courtesies  abroad. 

What  was  there  lacking  about  that  program,  to 
make  it  perfectly  irresistible?  Nothing,  that  any 
finite  mind  could  discover.  Paris,  England,  Scot 
land,  Switzerland,  Italy  —  Garibaldi!  The  Grecian 
archipelago  !  Vesuvius  !  Constantinople  !  Smyrna  ! 
The  Holy  Land  !  Egypt  and  "  our  friends  the  Ber- 
mudians  "  !  People  in  Europe  desiring  to  join  the 
Excursion  —  contagious  sickness  to  be  avoided  — 
boating  at  the  expense  of  the  ship  —  physician  on 
board  —  the  circuit  of  the  globe  to  be  made  if  the 
passengers  unanimously  desired  it  —  the  company 
to  be  rigidly  selected  by  a  pitiless  "  Committee  on 
Applications" — the  vessel  to  be  as  rigidly  selected 
by  as  pitiless  a  '*  Committee  on  Selecting  Steamer." 
Human  nature  could  not  withstand  these  bewildering 
temptations.  I  hurried  to  the  Treasurer's  office  and 
deposited  my  ten  per  cent.  I  rejoiced  to  know  that 
a  few  vacant  staterooms  were  still  left.  I  did  avoid 
a  critical  personal  examination  into  my  character,  by 
that  bowelless  committee,  but  I  referred  to  all  the 
people  of  high  standing  I  could  think  of  in  the  com- 
D» 


52  The  Innocents  Abroad 

munity  who  would  be  least  likely  to  know  anything 
about  me. 

Shortly  a  supplementary  program  was  issued  which 
set  forth  that  the  Plymouth  Collection  of  Hymns 
would  be  used  on  board  the  ship.  I  then  paid  the 
balance  of  my  passage  money. 

I  was  provided  with  a  receipt,  and  duly  and 
officially  accepted  as  an  excursionist.  There  was 
happiness  in  that,  but  it  was  tame  compared  to  the 
novelty  of  being  *'  select." 

This  supplementary  program  also  instructed  the 
excursionists  to  provide  themselves  with  light  musi 
cal  instruments  for  amusement  in  the  ship  ;  with  sad 
dles  for  Syrian  travel ;  green  spectacles  and  umbrellas ; 
veils  for  Egypt;  and  substantial  clothing  to  use  in 
rough  pilgrimizing  in  the  Holy  Land.  Furthermore, 
it  was  suggested  that  although  the  ship's  library 
would  afford  a  fair  amount  of  reading  matter,  it 
would  still  be  well  if  each  passenger  would  provide 
himself  with  a  few  guide-books,  a  Bible,  and  some 
standard  works  of  travel.  A  list  was  appended, 
which  consisted  chiefly  of  books  relating  to  the 
Holy  Land,  since  the  Holy  Land  was  part  of  the 
excursion  and  seemed  to  be  its  main  feature. 

Rev.  Henry  Ward  Beecher  was  to  have  accom 
panied  the  expedition,  but  urgent  duties  obliged  him 
to  give  up  the  idea.  There  were  other  passengers 
who  could  have  been  spared  better,  and  would  have 
been  spared  more  willingly.  Lieutenant-General 
Sherman  was  to  have  been  of  the  party,  also, 


The  Innocents  Abroad  53 

but  the  Indian  war  compelled  his  presence  on  the 
plains.  A  popular  actress  had  entered  her  name  on 
the  ship's  books,  but  something  interfered,  and  she 
couldn't  go.  The  "  Drummer  Boy  of  the  Potomac  " 
deserted,  and  lo,  we  had  never  a  celebrity  left! 

However,  we  were  to  have  a  "  battery  of  guns  " 
from  the  Navy  Department  (as  per  advertisement), 
to  be  used  in  answering  royal  salutes ;  and  the  docu 
ment  furnished  by  the  Secretary  of  the  Navy,  which 
was  to  make  "General  Sherman  and  party"  wel 
come  guests  in  the  courts  and  camps  of  the  old 
world,  was  still  left  to  us,  though  both  document 
and  battery,  I  think,  were  shorn  of  somewhat  of 
their  original  august  proportions.  However,  had 
not  we  the  seductive  program,  still,  with  its  Paris, 
its  Constantinople,  Smyrna,  Jerusalem,  Jericho,  and 
*  *  our  friends  the  Bermudians  ' '  ?  What  did  we  care  ? 


CHAPTER   II. 

OCCASIONALLY,  during  the  following  month,  I 
vy  dropped  in  at  117  Wall  Street  to  inquire  how 
the  repairing  and  refurnishing  of  the  vessel  was  com 
ing  on ;  how  additions  to  the  passenger  list  were  aver 
aging;  how  many  people  the  committee  were  de 
creeing  not  "select,"  every  day,  and  banishing  in 
sorrow  and  tribulation.  I  was  glad  to  know  that  we 
were  to  have  a  little  printing-press  on  board  and 
issue  a  daily  newspaper  of  our  own.  I  was  glad  to 
learn  that  our  piano,  our  parlor  organ,  and  our 
melodeon  were  to  be  the  best  instruments  of  the 
kind  that  could  be  had  in  the  market.  I  was  proud 
to  observe  that  among  our  excursionists  were  three 
ministers  of  the  gospel,  eight  doctors,  sixteen  or 
eighteen  ladies,  several  military  and  naval  chieftains 
with  sounding  titles,  an  ample  crop  of  "  Professors  " 
of  various  kinds,  and  a  gentleman  who  had  **  COM 
MISSIONER  OF  THE  UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA  TO 
EUROPE,  ASIA,  AND  AFRICA"  thundering  after  his 
name  in  one  awful  blast !  I  had  carefully  prepared 
myself  to  take  rather  a  back  seat  in  that  ship,  be 
cause  of  the  uncommonly  select  material  that  would 

(54) 


The  Innocents  Abroad  55 

alone  be  permitted  to  pass  through  the  camel's  eye 
of  that  committee  on  credentials;  I  had  schooled 
myself  to  expect  an  imposing  array  of  military  and 
naval  heroes,  and  to  have  to  set  that  back  seat  still 
further  back  in  consequence  of  it,  may  be;  but  I 
state  frankly  that  I  was  all  unprepared  for  this 
crusher. 

I  fell  under  that  titular  avalanche  a  torn  and 
blighted  thing.  I  said  that  if  that  potentate  must 
go  over  in  our  ship,  why,  I  supposed  he  must  —  but 
that  to  my  thinking,  when  the  United  States  consid 
ered  it  necessary  to  send  a  dignitary  of  that  tonnage 
across  the  ocean,  it  would  be  in  better  taste,  and 
safer,  to  take  him  apart  and  cart  him  over  in  sections, 
in  several  ships. 

Ah,  if  I  had  only  known,  then,  that  he  was  only 
a  common  mortal,  and  that  his  mission  had  nothing 
more  overpowering  about  it  than  the  collecting  of 
seeds,  and  uncommon  yams  and  extraordinary  cab 
bages  and  peculiar  bullfrogs  for  that  poor,  useless, 
innocent,  mildewed  old  fossil,  the  Smithsonian  In 
stitute,  I  would  have  felt  so  much  relieved. 

During  that  memorable  month  I  basked  in  the  hap 
piness  of  being  for  once  in  my  life  drifting  with  the 
tide  of  a  great  popular  movement.  Everybody  was 
going  to  Europe  —  I,  too,  was  going  to  Europe. 
Everybody  was  going  to  the  famous  Paris  Exposition 
—  I,  too,  was  going  to  the  Paris  Exposition.  The 
steamship  lines  were  carrying  Americans  out  of  the 
various  ports  of  the  country  at  the  rate  of  four  or 


56  The  Innocents  Abroad 

five  thousand  a  week,  in  the  aggregate.  If  I  met  a 
dozen  individuals,  during  that  month,  who  were  not 
going  to  Europe  shortly,  I  have  no  distinct  remem 
brance  of  it  now.  I  walked  about  the  city  a  good 
deal  with  a  young  Mr.  Blucher,  who  was  booked 
for  the  excursion.  He  was  confiding,  goou-natured, 
unsophisticated,  companionable;  but  he  was  not  a 
man  to  set  the  river  on  fire.  He  had  the  most  ex 
traordinary  notions  about  this  European  exodus,  and 
came  at  last  to  consider  the  whole  nation  as  packing 
up  for  emigration  to  France.  We  stepped  into  a 
store  in  Broadway,  one  day,  where  he  bought  a 
handkerchief,  and  when  the  man  could  not  make 
change,  Mr.  B.  said : 

44  Never  mind,  I'll  hand  it  to  you  in  Paris." 

14  But  I  am  not  going  to  Paris. " 

44  How  is  —  what  did  I  understand  you  to  say?  " 

44 1  said  I  am  not  going  to  Paris." 

*4  Not  going  to  Paris  /  Not  g —  well  then,  where 
in  the  nation  are  you  going  to?  " 

44  Nowhere  at  all." 

44  Not  anywhere  whatsoever?  —  not  any  place  on 
earth  but  this?" 

44  Not  any  place  at  all  but  just  this  —  stay  here  all 
summer." 

My  comrade  took  his  purchase  and  walked  out  of 
the  store  without  a  word  —  walked  out  with  an  in 
jured  look  upon  his  countenance.  Up  the  street 
apiece  he  broke  silence  and  said  impressively:  *4  It 
was  a  lie  —  that  is  my  opinion  of  it !  " 


The  Innocents  Abroad  57 

In  the  fullness  of  time  the  ship  was  ready  to  re 
ceive  her  passengers.  I  was  introduced  to  the 
young  gentleman  who  was  to  be  my  room-mate,  and 
found  him  to  be  intelligent,  cheerful  of  spirit,  un 
selfish,  full  of  generous  impulses,  patient,  consider 
ate,  and  wonderfully  good-natured.  Not  any 
passenger  that  sailed  in  the  Quaker  City  will  with 
hold  his  endorsement  of  what  I  have  just  said.  We 
selected  a  stateroom  forward  of  the  wheel,  on  the 
starboard  side,  *' below  decks."  It  had  two  berths 
in  it,  a  dismal  dead-light,  a  sink  with  a  wash-bowl  in 
it,  and  a  long  sumptuously  cushioned  locker,  which 
was  to  do  service  as  a  sofa — partly,  and  partly  as  a 
hiding  place  for  our  things.  Notwithstanding  all  this 
furniture,  there  was  still  room  to  turn  around  in,  but 
not  to  swing  a  cat  in,  at  least  with  entire  security  to 
the  cat.  However,  the  room  was  large,  for  a  ship's 
stateroom,  and  was  in  every  way  satisfactory. 

The  vessel  was  appointed  to  sail  on  a  certain  Sat 
urday  early  in  June. 

A  Httle  after  noon,  on  that  distinguished  Saturday, 
I  reached  the  ship  and  went  on  board.  All  was 
bustle  and  confusion.  [I  have  seen  that  remark  be 
fore,  somewhere.]  The  pier  was  crowded  with  car 
riages  and  men  ;  passengers  were  arriving  and  hurry 
ing  on  board  ;  the  vessel's  decks  were  encumbered 
with  trunks  and  valises ;  groups  of  excursionists, 
arrayed  in  unattractive  traveling  costumes,  were 
moping  about  in  a  drizzling  rain  and  looking  as 
droopy  and  woe-begone  as  so  many  molting  chick- 


58  The  Innocents  Abroad 

ens.  The  gallant  flag  was  up,  but  it  was  under  the 
spell,  too,  and  hung  limp  and  disheartened  by  the 
mast.  Altogether,  it  was  the  bluest,  bluest  spectacle  ! 
It  was  a  pleasure  excursion  —  there  was  no  gainsay 
ing  that,  because  the  program  said  so  —  it  was  so 
nominated  in  the  bond  —  but  it  surely  hadn't  the 
general  aspect  of  one. 

Finally,  above  the  banging,  and  rumbling,  and 
shouting  and  hissing  of  steam,  rang  the  order  to 
"  cast  off!" — a  sudden  rush  to  the  gangways  —  a 
scampering  ashore  of  visitors  —  a  revolution  of  the 
wheels,  and  we  were  off  —  the  picnic  was  begun! 
Two  very  mild  cheers  went  up  from  the  dripping 
crowd  on  the  pier;  we  answered  them  gently  from 
the  slippery  decks ;  the  flag  made  an  effort  to  wave, 
and  failed;  the  "  battery  of  guns  "  spake  not  —  the 
ammunition  was  out. 

We  steamed  down  to  the  foot  of  the  harbor  and 
came  to  anchor.  It  was  still  raining.  And  not  only 
raining,  but  storming.  **  Outside"  we  could  see, 
ourselves,  that  there  was  a  tremendous  sea  on.  We 
must  lie  still,  in  the  calm  harbor,  till  the  storm  should 
abate.  Our  passengers  hailed  from  fifteen  states; 
only  a  few  of  them  had  ever  been  to  sea  before; 
manifestly  it  would  not  do  to  pit  them  against  a  full 
blown  tempest  until  they  had  got  their  sea-legs  on. 
Towards  evening  the  two  steam  tugs  that  had  accom 
panied  us  with  a  rollicking  champagne  party  of  young 
New  Yorkers  on  board  who  wished  to  bid  farewell  to 
one  of  our  number  in  due  and  ancient  form,  de- 


The  Innocents  Abroad  59 

parted,  and  we  were  alone  on  the  deep.  On  deep 
five  fathoms,  and  anchored  fast  to  the  bottom.  And 
out  in  the  solemn  rain,  at  that.  This  was  pleasur 
ing  with  a  vengeance. 

It  was  an  appropriate  relief  when  the  gong  sounded 
for  prayer-meeting.  The  first  Saturday  night  of  any 
other  pleasure  excursion  might  have  been  devoted  to 
whist  and  dancing;  but  I  submit  it  to  the  unpreju 
diced  mind  if  it  would  have  been  in  good  taste  for  us 
to  engage  in  such  frivolities,  considering  what  we  had 
gone  through  and  the  frame  of  mind  we  were  in. 
We  would  have  shone  at  a  wake,  but  not  at  anything 
more  festive. 

However,  there  is  always  a  cheering  influence  about 
the  sea;  and  in  my  berth,  that  night,  rocked  by  the 
measured  swell  of  the  waves,  and  lulled  by  the  mur 
mur  of  the  distant  surf,  I  soon  passed  tranquilly  out 
of  all  consciousness  of  the  dreary  experiences  of  the 
day  and  damaging  premonitions  of  the  future. 


CHAPTER   III. 

ALL  day  Sunday  at  anchor.  The  storm  had  gone 
down  a  great  deal,  but  the  sea  had  not.  It  was 
still  piling  its  frothy  hills  high  in  air  "  outside,"  as 
we  could  plainly  see  with  the  glasses.  We  could 
not  properly  begin  a  pleasure  excursion  on  Sunday; 
we  could  not  offer  untried  stomachs  to  so  pitiless  a 
sea  as  that.  We  must  lie  still  till  Monday.  And 
we  did.  But  we  had  repetitions  of  church  and 
prayer-meetings;  and  so,  of  course,  we  were  just  as 
eligibly  situated  as  we  could  have  been  anywhere. 

I  was  up  early  that  Sabbath  morning,  and  was 
early  to  breakfast.  I  felt  a  perfectly  natural  desire 
to  have  a  good,  long,  unprejudiced  look  at  the  pas 
sengers,  at  a  time  when  they  should  be  free  from 
self-consciousness  —  which  is  at  breakfast,  when 
such  a  moment  occurs  in  the  lives  of  human  beings 
at  all. 

I  was  greatly  surprised  to  see  so  many  elderly  peo 
ple  —  I  might  almost  say,  so  many  venerable  people. 
A  glance  at  the  long  lines  of  heads  was  apt  to  make 
one  think  it  was  all  gray.  But  it  was  not.  There 
was  a  tolerably  fair  sprinkling  of  /oung  folks,  and 

(60) 


The  Innocents  Abroad  61 

another  fair  sprinkling  of  gentlemen  and  ladies  who 
were  non-committal  as  to  age,  being  neither  actually 
old  or  absolutely  young. 

The  next  morning,  we  weighed  anchor  and  went 
to  sea.  It  was  a  great  happiness  to  get  away,  after 
this  dragging,  dispiriting  delay.  I  thought  there 
never  was  such  gladness  in  the  air  before,  such 
brightness  in  the  sun,  such  beauty  in  the  sea.  I  was 
satisfied  with  the  picnic,  then,  and  with  all  its  belong 
ings.  All  my  malicious  instincts  were  dead  within  me ; 
and  as  America  faded  out  of  sight,  I  think  a  spirit 
of  charity  rose  up  in  their  place  that  was  as  bound 
less,  for  the  time  being,  as  the  broad  ocean  that  was 
heaving  its  billows  about  us.  I  wished  to  express  my 
feelings  —  J  wished  to  lift  up  my  voice  and  sing,  but 
I  did  not  know  anything  to  sing,  and  so  I  was  obliged 
to  give  up  the  idea.  It  was  no  loss  to  the  ship 
though,  perhaps. 

It  was  breezy  and  pleasant,  but  the  sea  was  still 
very  rough.  One  could  not  promenade  without 
risking  hi?  neck ;  at  one  moment  the  bowsprit  was 
taking  a  deadly  aim  at  the  sun  in  mid-heaven,  and  at 
the  next  it  was  trying  to  harpoon  a  shark  in  the  bot 
tom  of  the  ocean.  What  a  weird  sensation  it  is  to 
feel  the  stern  of  a  ship  sinking  swiftly  from  under 
you  and  see  the  bow  climbing  high  away  among  the 
clouds !  One's  safest  course,  that  day,  was  to  clasp 
a  railing  and  hang  on ;  walking  was  too  precarious 
a  pastime. 

By  some  happy  fortune  I  was  not  seasick.     That 


62  The  Innocents  Abroad 

was  a  thing  to  be  proud  of.  I  had  not  always 
escaped  before.  If  there  is  one  thing  in  the 
world  that  will  make  a  man  peculiarly  and  insuffer 
ably  self-conceited,  it  is  to  have  his  stomach  behave 
itself,  the  first  day  at  sea,  when  nearly  all  his 
comrades  are  seasick.  Soon,  a  venerable  fossil, 
shawled  to  the  chin  and  bandaged  like  a  mummy, 
appeared  at  the  door  of  the  after  deck-house,  and 
the  next  lurch  of  the  ship  shot  him  into  my  arms. 
I  said: 

'*  Good  morning,  sir.     It  is  a  fine  day." 

He  put  his  hand  on  his  stomach  and  said,  "Oh, 
my !  ' '  and  then  staggered  away  and  fell  over  the 
coop  of  a  skylight. 

Presently  another  old  gentleman  was  projected 
from  the  same  door,  with  great  violence.  I  said: 

**  Calm  yourself,  sir  —  There  is  no  hurry.  It  is  a 
fine  day,  sir." 

He,  also,  put  his  hand  on  his  stomach  and  said 
"Oh,  my!  "  and  reeled  away. 

In  a  little  while  another  veteran  was  discharged 
abruptly  from  the  same  door,  clawing  at  the  air  for 
a  saving  support.  I  said  : 

"  Good  morning,  sir.  It  is  a  fine  day  for  pleasur 
ing.  You  were  about  to  say " 

41  Oh,  my!" 

I  thought  so.  I  anticipated  him,  anyhow.  I 
stayed  there  and  was  bombarded  with  old  gentlemen 
for  an  hour,  perhaps ;  and  all  I  got  out  of  any  of 
them  was  "  Oh,  my!" 


The  Innocents  Abroad  63 

I  went  away,  then,  in  a  thoughtful  mood.  I  said, 
this  is  a  good  pleasure  excursion.  I  like  it.  The 
passengers  are  not  garrulous,  but  still  they  are 
sociable.  I  like  those  old  people,  but  somehow 
they  all  seem  to  have  the  "  Oh,  my  "  rather  bad. 

I  knew  what  was  the  matter  with  them.  They 
were  seasick.  And  I  was  glad  of  it.  We  all  like  to 
see  people  seasick  when  we  are  not,  ourselves. 
Playing  whist  by  the  cabin  lamps,  when  it  is  storm 
ing  outside,  is  pleasant;  walking  the  quarter-deck  in 
the  moonlight  is  pleasant;  smoking  in  the  breezy 
foretop  is  pleasant,  when  one  is  not  afraid  to  go  up 
there;  but  these  are  all  feeble  and  commonplace 
compared  with  the  joy  of  seeing  people  suffering  the 
miseries  of  seasickness. 

I  picked  up  a  good  deal  of  information  during  the 
afternoon.  At  one  time  I  was  climbing  up  the 
quarter-deck  when  the  vessel's  stern  was  in  the  sky; 
I  was  smoking  a  cigar  and  feeling  passably  comfort 
able.  Somebody  ejaculated : 

"  Come,  now,  that  won't  answer.  Read  the  sign 
up  there  —  NO  SMOKING  ABAFT  THE  WHEEL!" 

It  was  Captain  Duncan,  chief  of  the  expedition. 
I  went  forward,  of  course.  I  saw  a  long  spyglass 
lying  on  a  desk  in  one  of  the  upper-deck  staterooms 
back  of  the  pilot-house,  and  reached  after  it — there 
was  a  ship  in  the  distance : 

"Ah,  ah  —  hands  off!     Come  out  of  that!" 

I  came  out  of  that.  I  said  to  a  deck-sweep  —  but 
in  a  low  voice : 


64  The  Innocents  Abroad 

"  Who  is  that  overgrown  pirate  with  the  whiskers 
and  the  discordant  voice?" 

"It's  Captain  Bursley  —  executive  officer — sail 
ing  master." 

I  loitered  about  awhile,  and  then,  for  want  of 
something  better  to  do,  fell  to  carving  a  railing  with 
my  knife.  Somebody  said,  in  an  insinuating,  ad 
monitory  voice : 

"Now,  say — my  friend  —  don't  you  know  any 
better  than  to  be  whittling  the  ship  all  to  pieces  that 
way?  You  ought  to  know  better  than  that." 

I  went  back  and  found  the  deck-sweep : 

"Who  is  that  smooth-faced  animated  outrage 
yonder  in  the  fine  clothes?" 

"  That's  Captain  L****,  the  owner  of  the  ship  — 
he's  one  of  the  main  bosses." 

In  the  course  of  time  I  brought  up  on  the  star 
board  side  of  the  pilot-house,  and  found  a  sextant 
lying  on  a  bench.  Now,  I  said,  they  "  take  the 
sun  "  through  this  thing;  I  should  think  I  might  see 
that  vessel  through  it.  I  had  hardly  got  it  to  my 
eye  when  some  one  touched  me  on  the  shoulder  and 
said,  deprecatingly : 

"I'll  have  to  get  you  to  give  that  to  me,  sir.  If 
there's  anything  you'd  like  to  know  about  taking  the 
sun,  I'd  as  soon  tell  you  as  not  —  but  I  don't  like 
to  trust  anybody  with  that  instrument,  if  you  want 
any  figuring  done —  Aye-aye,  sir!" 

He  was  gone,  to  answer  a  call  from  the  other  side. 
I  sought  the  deck-sweep : 


The  Innocents  Abroad  65 

"  Who  is  that  spider-legged  gorilla  yonder  with 
the  sanctimonious  countenance?" 

"It's  Captain  Jones,  sir  —  the  chief  mate." 

"  Well.  This  goes  clear  away  ahead  of  anything 
I  ever  heard  of  before.  Do  you  —  now  I  ask  you 
as  a  man  and  a  brother  —  do  you  think  I  could 
venture  to  throw  a  rock  here  in  any  given  direction 
without  hitting  a  captain  of  this  ship?" 

*'Well,  sir,  I  don't  know— I  think  likely  you'd 
fetch  the  captain  of  the  watch,  maybe,  because  he's 
a-standing  right  yonder  in  the  way." 

I  went  below  —  meditating,  and  a  little  down 
hearted.  I  thought,  if  five  cooks  can  spoil  a  broth, 
what  may  not  five  captains  do  with  a  pleasure  ex 
cursion. 


CHAPTER   IV. 

WE  plowed  along  bravely  for  a  week  or  more, 
and  without  any  conflict  of  jurisdiction  among 
the  captains  worth  mentioning.  The  passengers 
soon  learned  to  accommodate  themselves  to  their 
new  circumstances,  and  life  in  the  ship  became 
nearly  as  systematically  monotonous  as  the  routine 
ot  a  barrack.  1  do  not  mean  that  it  was  dull,  for  it 
was  not  entirely  so  by  any  means  —  but  there  was  a 
good  deal  of  sameness  about  it.  As  is  always  the 
fashion  at  sea,  the  passengers  shortly  began  to  pick 
up  sailor  terms  —  a  sign  that  they  were  beginning 
to  feel  at  home.  Half-past  six  was  no  longer  half- 
past  six  to  these  pilgrims  from  New  England,  the 
South,  and  the  Mississippi  Valley,  it  was  "  seven 
bells  "  ;  eight,  twelve,  and  four  o'clock  were  "  eight 
bells ' ' ;  the  captain  did  not  take  the  longitude  at 
nine  o'clock,  but  at  "two  bells."  They  spoke 
glibly  of  the  "  after  cabin,"  the  "  for'rard  cabin," 
"  port  and  starboard  "  and  the  "  fo'castle." 

At  seven  bells  the  first  gong  rang ;  at  eight  there 
was  breakfast,  for  such  as  were  not  too  seasick  to 
eat  it.  After  that  all  the  well  people  walked  arm- 

(66) 


The  Innocents  Abroad  67 

in-arm    up    and    down    the    long   promenade    deck, 
enjoying  the  fine  summer  mornings,  and  the  seasick 
ones  crawled  out  and  propped  themselves  up  in  the 
lee  of  the  paddle-boxes  and  ate  their  dismal  tea  and 
toast,  and   looked   wretched.     From  eleven  o'clock 
until  luncheon,  and  from  luncheon   until   dinner  at 
six  in  the  evening,  the  employments  and  amusements 
were  various.     Some  reading  was  done ;  and  much 
smoking    and    sewing,    though    not    by   the    same 
parties ;  there  were  the  monsters  of  the  deep  to  be 
looked  after  and  wondered  at;   strange  ships  had  to 
be   scrutinized   through  opera-glasses,  and  sage  de 
cisions  arrived  at  concerning  them ;   and  more  than 
that,  everybody  took  a  personal   interest  in   seeing 
that  the   flag  was  run  up  and  politely  dipped  three 
times  in  response  to  the  salutes  of  those  strangers; 
in   the   smoking-room   there  were  always   parties  of 
gentlemen   playing  euchre,  draughts,   and  dominoes, 
especially  dominoes,  that  delightfully  harmless  game ; 
and  down  on  the  main  deck,  "  for'rard  "  — for'rard 
of  the  chicken  coops  and  the  cattle  —  we  had  what 
was  called  "horse-billiards."     Horse-billiards  is  a 
fine  game.     It  affords  good,  active  exercise,  hilarity, 
and    consuming    excitement.     It    is    a    mixture    of 
*  hop-scotch"    and    shuffle-board    played    with    a 
crutch.     A  large  hop-scotch  diagram  is  marked  out 
on  the  deck  with  chalk,  and  each  compartment  num 
bered.     You  stand  off  three  or  foui  steps,  with  some 
broad  wooden  disks  before  you   on   the  deck,  and 
these  you  send  forward  with  a  vigorous  thrust  of  a 


68  The  Innocents  Abroad 

long  crutch.  If  a  disk  stops  on  a  chalk  line,  it  does 
not  count  anything.  If  it  stops  in  division  No.  7, 
it  counts  7;  in  5,  it  counts  5,  and  so  on.  The  game 
is  100,  and  four  can  play  at  a  time.  That  game 
would  be  very  simple,  played  on  a  stationary  floor, 
but  with  us,  to  play  it  well  required  science.  We 
had  to  allow  for  the  reeling  of  the  ship  to  the  right 
or  the  left.  Very  often  one  made  calculations  for  a 
heel  to  the  right  and  the  ship  did  not  go  that  way. 
The  consequence  was  that  that  disk  missed  the 
whole  hop-scotch  plan  a  yard  or  two,  and  then  there 
was  humiliation  on  one  side  and  laughter  on  the  other. 

When  it  rained,  the  passengers  had  to  stay  in  the 
house,  of  course  —  or  at  least  the  cabins  —  and 
amuse  themselves  with  games,  reading,  looking  out 
of  the  windows  at  the  very  familiar  billows,  and  talk 
ing  gossip. 

By  7  o'clock  in  the  evening,  dinner  was  about 
over;  an  hour's  promenade  on  the  upper  deck  fol 
lowed  ;  then  the  gong  sounded  and  a  large  majority 
of  the  party  repaired  to  the  after  cabin  (upper)  a 
handsome  saloon  fifty  or  sixty  feet  long,  for  prayers. 
The  unregenerated  called  this  saloon  the  "  Syna 
gogue."  The  devotions  consisted  only  of  two 
hymns  from  the  "  Plymouth  Collection,"  and  a 
short  prayer,  and  seldom  occupied  more  than  fifteen 
minutes.  The  hymns  were  accompanied  by  parlor 
organ  music  when  the  sea  was  smooth  enough  to 
allow  a  performer  to  sit  at  the  instrument  without 
being  lashed  to  his  chair. 


The  Innocents  Abroad  69 

After  prayers  the  Synagogue  shortly  took  the 
stmblance  of  a  writing-school.  The  like  of  that 
picture  was  never  seen  in  a  ship  before.  Behind  the 
long  dining-tables  on  either  side  of  the  saloon,  and 
scattered  from  one  end  to  the  other  of  the  latter, 
some  twenty  or  thirty  gentlemen  and  ladies  sat  them 
down  under  the  swaying  lamps,  and  for  two  or  three 
hours  wrote  diligently  in  their  journals.  Alas  !  that 
journals  so  voluminously  begun  should  come  to  so 
lame  and  impotent  a  conclusion  as  most  of  them 
did !  I  doubt  if  there  is  a  single  pilgrim  of  all  that 
host  but  can  show  a  hundred  fair  pages  of  journal 
concerning  the  first  twenty  days'  voyaging  in  the 
Quaker  City  ;  and  I  am  morally  certain  that  not  ten 
of  the  party  can  show  twenty  pages  of  journal  for 
the  succeeding  twenty  thousand  miles  of  voyaging! 
At  certain  periods  it  becomes  the  dearest  ambition 
of  a  man  to  keep  a  faithful  record  of  his  perform 
ances  in  a  book ;  and  he  dashes  at  this  work  with  an 
enthusiasm  that  imposes  on  him  the  notion  that 
keeping  a  journal  is  the  veriest  pastime  in  the  world, 
snd  the  pleasantest.  But  if  he  only  lives  twenty-one 
days,  he  will  find  out  that  only  those  rare  natures 
that  are  made  up  of  pluck,  endurance,  devotion  to 
duty  for  duty's  sake,  and  invincible  determination, 
may  hope  to  venture  upon  so  tremendous  an  enter 
prise  as  the  keeping  of  a  journal  and  not  sustain  a 
shameful  defeat. 

One  of  our  favorite  youths,  Jack,  a  splendid 
young  fellow  with  a  head  full  of  good  sense,  and  a 


70  The  Innocents  Abroad 

pair  of  legs  that  were  a  wonder  to  look  upon  in  the 
way  of  length  and  straightness  and  slimness,  used 
to  report  progress  every  morning  in  the  most  glow 
ing  and  spirited  way,  and  say : 

"  Oh,  I'm  coming  along  bully!"  (he  was  a  little 
given  to  slang,  in  his  happier  moods)  "  I  wrote  ten 
pages  in  my  journal  last  night  —  and  you  know  I 
wrote  nine  the  night  before,  and  twelve  the  night 
before  that.  Why,  it's  only  fun  !" 

'*  What  do  you  find  to  put  in  it,  Jack?" 

"  Oh,  everything.  Latitude  and  longitude,  noon 
every  day;  and  how  many  miles  v/e  made  last 
twenty-four  hours ;  and  all  the  domino  games  I  beat, 
and  horse-billiards;  and  whales  and  sharks  and 
porpoises;  and  the  text  of  the  sermon,  Sundays 
(because  that'll  tell  at  home,  you  know)  ;  and  the 
ships  we  saluted  and  what  nation  they  were;  and 
which  way  the  wind  was,  and  whether  there  was  a 
heavy  sea,  and  what  sail  we  carried,  though  we  don't 
ever  carry  any,  principally,  going  against  a  head 
wind  always  —  wonder  what  is  the  reason  of  that?  — 
and  how  many  lies  Moult  has  told  —  Oh,  everything ! 
I've  got  everything  down.  My  father  told  me  to 
keep  that  journal.  Father  wouldn't  take  a  thousand 
dollars  for  it  when  I  get  it  done." 

"  No,  Jack;  it  will  be  worth  more  than  a  thou 
sand  dollars  —  when  you  get  it  done." 

**  Do  you?  —  no,  but  do  you  think  it  will, 
though?" 

*  Yes,  it  will   be  worth   at   least   as   much  as  a 


The  Innocents  Abroad  71 

thousand  dollars  —  when  you  get  it  done.     Maybe, 


more." 


"  Well,  I  about  half  think  so,  myself.  It  ain't  no 
slouch  of  a  journal." 

But  it  shortly  became  a  most  lamentable  "  slouch 
of  a  journal."  One  night  in  Paris,  after  a  hard 
day's  toil  in  sight-seeing,  I  said: 

"  Now  I'll  go  and  stroll  around  the  cafe's  awhile, 
Jack,  and  give  you  a  chance  to  write  up  your  jour 
nal,  old  fellow." 

His  countenance  lost  its  fire.     He  said : 

"Well,  no,  you  needn't  mind.  I  think  I  won't 
run  that  journal  any  more.  It  is  awful  tedious.  Do 
you  know  —  I  reckon  I'm  as  much  as  four  thousand 
pages  behindhand.  I  haven't  got  any  France  in  it 
at  all.  First  I  thought  I'd  leave  France  out  and  start 
fresh.  But  that  wouldn't  do,  would  it?  The  gov 
ernor  would  say,  '  Hello,  here  —  didn't  see  anything 
in  France?'  That  cat  wouldn't  fight,  you  know. 
First  I  thought  I'd  copy  France  out  of  the  guide 
book,  like  old  Badger  in  the  for'rard  cabin  who's 
writing  a  book,  but  there's  more  than  three  hundred 
pages  of  it.  Oh,  /don't  think  a  journal's  any  use 
—  do  you?  They're  only  a  bother,  ain't  they?" 

*'  Yes,  a  journal  that  is  incomplete  isn't  of  much 
use,  but  a  journal  properly  kept  is  worth  a  thousand 
dollars, —  when  you've  got  it  done." 

*'A  thousand! — well,  I  should  think  so.  / 
wouldn't  finish  it  for  a  million." 

His  experience  was  only  the  experience  of  the 


72  The  Innocents  Abroad 

majority  of  that  industrious  night-school  in  the 
cabin.  If  you  wish  to  inflict  a  heartless  and  malig 
nant  punishment  upon  a  young  person,  pledge  him 
to  keep  a  journal  a  year. 

A  good  many  expedients  were  resorted  to  to  keep 
the  excursionists  amused  and  satisfied.  A  club  was 
formed,  of  all  the  passengers,  which  met  in  the 
writing-school  after  prayers  and  read  aloud  about 
the  countries  we  were  approaching,  and  discussed 
the  information  so  obtained. 

Several  times  the  photographer  of  the  expedition 
brought  out  his  transparent  pictures  and  gave  us  a 
handsome  magic  lantern  exhibition.  His  views  were 
nearly  all  of  foreign  scenes,  but  there  were  one  or 
two  home  pictures  among  them.  He  advertised  that 
he  would  '*  open  his  performance  in  the  after  cabin 
at  *  two  bells'  (9  p.  m.),  and  show  the  passengers 
where  they  shall  eventually  arrive  ' ' —  which  was  all 
very  well,  but  by  a  funny  accident  the  first  picture 
that  flamed  out  upon  the  canvas  was  a  view  of 
Greenwood  Cemetery ! 

On  several  starlight  nights  we  danced  on  the  upper 
deck,  under  the  awnings,  and  made  something  of  a 
ball-room  display  of  brilliancy  by  hanging  a  number 
of  ship's  lanterns  to  the  stanchions.  Our  music 
consisted  of  the  well-mixed  strains  of  a  melodeon 
which  was  a  little  asthmatic  and  apt  to  catch  its 
breath  where  it  ought  to  come  out  strong ;  a  clarinet 
which  was  a  little  unreliable  on  the  high  keys  and 
rather  melancholy  on  the  low  ones;  and  a  disrepu- 


The  Innocents  Abroad  73 

table  accordion  that  had  a  leak  somewhere  and 
breathed  louder  than  it  squawked  —  a  more  elegant 
term  does  not  occur  to  me  just  now.  However,  the 
dancing  was  infinitely  worse  than  the  music.  When 
the  ship  rolled  to  starboard  the  whole  platoon  of 
dancers  came  charging  down  to  starboard  with  it, 
and  brought  up  in  mass  at  the  rail;  and  when  it 
rolled  to  port,  they  went  floundering  down  to  port 
with  the  same  unanimity  of  sentiment.  Waltzers 
spun  around  precariously  for  a  matter  of  fifteen 
seconds  and  then  went  skurrying  down  to  the  rail  as 
if  they  meant  to  go  overboard.  The  Virginia  reel, 
as  performed  on  board  the  Quaker  City,  had  more 
genuine  reel  about  it  than  any  reel  I  ever  saw  be 
fore,  and  was  as  full  of  interest  to  the  spectator  as  it 
was  full  of  desperate  chances  and  hairbreadth  es 
capes  to  the  participant.  We  gave  up  dancing, 
finally. 

We  celebrated  a  lady's  birthday  anniversary,  with 
toasts,  speeches,  a  poem,  and  so  forth.  We  also 
had  a  mock  trial.  No  ship  ever  went  to  sea  that 
hadn't  a  mock  trial  on  board.  The  purser  was  ac 
cused  of  stealing  an  overcoat  from  stateroom  No, 
10.  A  judge  was  appointed;  also  clerks,  a  crier  of 
the  court,  constables,  sheriffs ;  counsel  for  the  state 
and  for  the  defendant ;  witnesses  were  subpoenaed, 
and  a  jury  empaneled  after  much  challenging.  The 
witnesses  were  stupid  and  unreliable  and  contradic 
tory,  as  witnesses  always  are.  The  counsel  were 
eloquent,  argumentative,  and  vindictively  abusive  of 


74  The  Innocents  Abroad 

each  other,  as  was  characteristic  and  proper.  The 
case  was  at  last  submitted,  and  duly  finished  by  the 
judge  with  an  absurd  decision  and  a  ridiculous 
sentence. 

The  acting  of  charades  was  tried,  on  several  even 
ings,  by  the  young  gentlemen  and  ladies,  in  the 
cabins,  and  proved  the  most  distinguished  success  of 
all  the  amusement  experiments. 

An  attempt  was  made  to  organize  a  debating  club, 
but  it  was  a  failure.  There  was  no  oratorical  talent 
in  the  ship. 

We  all  enjoyed  ourselves  —  I  think  I  can  safely 
say  that,  but  it  was  in  a  rather  quiet  way.  We  very, 
very  seldom  played  the  piano ;  we  played  the  flute 
and  the  clarinet  together,  and  made  good  music, 
too,  what  there  was  of  it,  but  we  always  played  the 
same  old  tune;  it  was  a  very  pretty  tune  —  how 
well  I  remember  it — I  wonder  when  I  shall  ever  get 
rid  of  it.  We  never  played  either  the  melodeon  or 
the  organ,  except  at  devotions  —  but  I  am  too  fast; 
young  Albert  did  know  part  of  a  tune  —  something 
about  *'O  Something-Or-Other  How  Sweet  it  is  to 
Know  that  he's  his  What's-his-Name  "  (I  do  not 
remember  the  exact  title  of  it,  but  it  was  very  plain 
tive,  and  full  of  sentiment),  Albert  played  that 
pretty  much  all  the  time,  until  we  contracted  with 
him  to  restrain  himself.  But  nobody  ever  sang  by 
moonlight  on  the  upper  deck,  and  the  congregational 
singing  at  church  and  prayers  was  not  of  a  superior 
order  of  architecture.  I  put  up  with  it  as  long  as  I 


The  Innocents  Abroad  75 

could,  and  then  joined  in  and  tried  to  improve  it, 
but  this  encouraged  young  George  to  join  in,  too, 
and  that  made  a  failure  of  it;  because  George's 
voice  was  just  "  turning,"  and  when  he  was  singing 
a  dismal  sort  of  bass,  it  was  apt  to  fly  off  the  handle 
and  startle  everybody  with  a  most  discordant  cackle 
on  the  upper  notes.  George  didn't  know  the  tunes, 
either,  which  was  also  a  drawback  to  his  perform 
ances.  I  said: 

"  Come,  now,  George,  don't  improvise.  It  looks 
too  egotistical.  It  will  provoke  remark.  Just  stick 
to  *  Coronation/  like  the  others.  It  is  a  good  tune 
— you  can't  improve  it  any,  just  off-hand,  in  this 
way." 

"Why,  I'm  not  trying  to  improve  it  —  and  I  am 
singing  like  the  others  —  just  as  it  is  in  the  notes." 

And  he  honestly  thought  he  was,  too ;  and  so  he 
had  no  one  to  blame  but  himself  when  his  voice 
caught  on  the  center  occasionally,  and  gave  him  the 
lockjaw. 

There  were  those  among  the  unregenerated  who 
attributed  the  unceasing  head  winds  to  our  distress 
ing  choir  music.  There  were  those  who  said  openly 
that  it  was  taking  chances  enough  to  have  such 
ghastly  music  going  on,  even  when  it  was  at  its  best; 
and  that  to  exaggerate  the  crime  by  letting  George 
help,  was  simply  flying  in  the  face  of  Providence. 
These  said  that  the  choir  would  keep  up  their  lacer 
ating  attempts  at  melody  until  they  would  bring 
down  a  storm  some  day  that  would  sink  the  ship. 


76  The  Innocents  Abroad 

There  were  even  grumblers  at  the  prayers.     The 
executive  officer  said  the  Pilgrims  had  no  charity. 

'  There  they  are,  down  there  every  night  at  eight 
bells,  praying  for  fair  winds  —  when  they  know  as 
well  as  I  do  that  this  is  the  only  ship  going  east  this 
time  of  the  year,  but  there's  a  thousand  coming 
west  —  what's  a  fair  wind  for  us  is  a  head  wind  to 
them  —  the  Almighty's  blowing  a  fair  wind  for  a 
thousand  vessels,  and  this  tribe  wants  him  to  turn  it 
clear  around  so  as  to  accommodate  one, —  and  she  a 
steamship  at  that!  It  ain't  good  sense,  it  ain't  good 
reason,  it  ain't  good  Christianity,  it  ain't  common 
human  charity.  Avast  with  such  nonsense !" 


CHAPTER  V. 

TAKING  it  "by  and  large,"  as  the  sailors  say, 
we  had  a  pleasant  ten  days'  run  from  New 
York  to  the  Azores  islands — not  a  fast  run,  for  the 
distance  is  only  twenty-four  hundred  miles  —  but  a 
right  pleasant  one,  in  the  main.  True,  we  had  head 
winds  all  the  time,  and  several  stormy  experiences 
which  sent  fifty  per  cent,  of  the  passengers  to  bed, 
sick,  and  made  the  ship  look  dismal  and  deserted  — 
stormy  experiences  that  all  will  remember  who 
weathered  them  on  the  tumbling  deck,  and  caught 
the  vast  sheets  of  spray  that  every  now  and  then 
sprang  high  in  air  from  the  weather  bow  and  swept 
the  ship  like  a  thunder  shower;  but  for  the  most 
part  we  had  balmy  summer  weather,  and  nights  that 
were  even  finer  than  the  days.  We  had  the  phe 
nomenon  of  a  full  moon  located  just  in  the  same 
spot  in  the  heavens  at  the  same  hour  every  night. 
The  reason  of  this  singular  conduct  on  the  part  of 
the  moon  did  not  occur  to  us  at  first,  but  it  did 
afterward  when  we  reflected  that  we  were  gaining 
about  twenty  minutes  every  day,  because  we  were 
going  east  so  fast  —  we  gained  just  about  enough 
6  (7?) 


78  The  Innocents  Abroad 

every  day  to  keep  along  with  the  moon.  It  was 
becoming  an  old  moon  to  the  *nends  we  had  left 
behind  us,  but  to  us  Joshuas  it  stood  still  in  the 
same  place,  and  remained  always  the  same. 

Young  Mr.  Blucher,  who  is  from  the  Far  West, 
and  is  on  his  first  voyage,  was  a  good  deal  worried 
by  the  constantly  changing  *'  ship  time."  He  was 
proud  of  his  new  watch  at  first,  and  used  to  drag  it 
out  promptly  when  eight  bells  struck  at  noon,  but 
he  came  to  look  after  a  while  as  if  he  were  losing 
confidence  in  it.  Seven  days  out  from  New  York 
he  came  on  deck,  and  said  with  great  decision: 

44  This  thing's  a  swindle!0 

"What's  a  swindle?" 

14  Why,  this  watch.  I  bought  her  out  in  Illinois 
—  gave  $150  for  her  —  and  I  thought  she  was  good. 
And,  by  George,  she  is  good  on  shore,  but  some 
how  she  don't  keep  up  her  lick  here  on  the  water  — 
gets  seasick,  ~naybe.  She  skips;  she  runs  along 
regular  enough  till  half-past  eleven,  and  then,  all  of 
a  sudden,  she  lets  down.  I've  set  that  old  regulator 
up  faster  and  faster,  till  I've  shoved  it  clear  around, 
but  it  don't  do  any  good ;  she  just  distances  every 
watch  in  the  ship,  and  clatters  along  in  a  way  that's 
astonishing  till  it  is  noon,  but  them  eight  bells  always 
gets  in  about  ten  minutes  ahead  of  her,  anyway.  I 
don't  know  what  to  do  with  her  now.  She's  doing 
all  she  can  —  she's  going  her  best  gait,  but  it  won't 
save  her.  Now,  don't  you  know,  there  ain't  a  watch 
in  the  ship  that's  making  better  time  than  she  is; 


The  Innocents  Abroad  79 

but  what  does  it  signify?  When  you  hear  them 
eight  bells  you'll  find  her  just  about  ten  minutes 
short  of  her  score,  sure." 

The  ship  was  gaining  a  full  hour  every  three  days, 
and  this  fellow  was  trying  to  make  his  watch  go  fast 
enough  to  keep  up  to  her.  But,  as  he  had  said,  he 
had  pushed  the  regulator  up  as  far  as  it  would  go, 
and  the  watch  was  **  on  its  best  gait,"  and  so  noth 
ing  was  left  him  but  to  fold  his  hands  and  see  the 
ship  beat  the  race.  We  sent  him  to  the  captain, 
and  he  explained  to  him  the  mystery  of  **  ship 
time,"  and  set  his  troubled  mind  at  rest,  This 
young  man  asked  a  great  many  questions  about 
seasickness  before  we  left,  and  wanted  to  know  what 
its  characteristics  were,  and  how  he  was  to  tell  wnen 
he  had  it.  He  found  out. 

We  saw  the  usual  sharks,  blackfish,  porpoises, 
etc.,  of  course,  and  by  and  by  large  schools  of 
Portuguese  men-of-war  were  added  to  the  regular 
list  of  sea  wonders.  Some  of  them  were  white  and 
some  of  a  brilliant  carmine  color.  The  nautilus  is 
nothing  but  a  transparent  web  of  jelly,  that  spreads 
itself  to  catch  the  wind,  and  has  fleshy-looking 
strings  a  foot  or  two  long  dangling  from  it  to  keep 
it  steady  in  the  water.  It  is  an  accomplished  sailor, 
and  has  good  sailor  judgment.  It  reefs  its  sail  when 
a  storm  threatens  or  the  wind  blows  pretty  hard,  and 
furls  it  entirely  and  goes  down  when  a  gale  blows. 
Ordinarily  it  keeps  its  sail  wet  and  in  good  sailing 
order  by  turning  over  and  dipping  it  in  the  water  for 


80  The  Innocents  Abroad 

SL  moment.  Seamen  say  the  nautilus  is  only  found 
in  these  waters  between  the  35th  and  45th  parallels 
of  latitude. 

At  three  o'clock  on  the  morning  of  the  2 1st  of 
June  we  were  awakened  and  notified  that  the 
Azores  islands  were  in  sight.  I  said  I  did  not  take 
any  interest  in  islands  at  three  o'clock  in  the  morn 
ing.  But  another  persecutor  came,  and  then  another 
and  another,  and  finally  believing  that  the  general 
enthusiasm  would  permit  no  one  to  slumber  in 
peace,  I  got  up  and  went  sleepily  on  deck.  It  was 
five  and  a  half  o'clock  now,  and  a  raw,  blustering 
morning.  The  passengers  were  huddled  about  the 
smoke  stacks  and  fortified  behind  ventilators,  and  all 
were  wrapped  in  wintry  costumes,  and  looking  sleepy 
and  unhappy  in  the  pitiless  gale  and  the  drenching 
spray. 

The  island  in  sight  was  Flores.  It  seemed  only  a 
mountain  of  mud  standing  up  out  of  the  dull  mists 
of  the  sea.  But  as  we  bore  down  upon  it,  the  sun 
came  out  and  made  it  a  beautiful  picture  —  a  mass 
of  green  farms  and  meadows  that  swelled  up  to  a 
height  of  fifteen  hundred  feet,  and  mingled  its 
upper  outlines  with  the  clouds.  It  was  ribbed  with 
sharp,  steep  ridges,  and  cloven  with  narrow  cations, 
and  here  and  there  on  the  heights,  rocky  upheavals 
shaped  themselves  into  mimic  battlements  and 
castles ;  and  out  of  rifted  clouds  came  broad  shafts 
of  sunlight,  that  painted  summit  and  slope  and 
glen  with  bands  of  fire,  and  left  belts  of  somber 


The  Innocents  Abroad  81 

shade  between.  It  was  the  aurora  borealis  of  the 
frozen  pole  exiled  to  a  summer  land ! 

We  skirted  around  two-thirds  of  the  island,  lour 
miles  from  shore,  and  all  the  opera-glasses  in  the 
ship  were  called  into  requisition  to  settle  disputes  as 
to  whether  mossy  spots  on  the  uplands  were  groves 
of  trees  or  groves  of  weeds,  or  whether  the  white 
villages  down  by  the  sea  were  really  villages  or  only 
the  clustering  tombstones  of  cemeteries.  Finally, 
we  stood  to  sea  and  bore  away  for  San  Miguel,  and 
Flores  shortly  became  a  dome  of  mud  again,  and 
sank  down  among  the  mists  and  disappeared.  But 
to  many  a  seasick  passenger  it  was  good  to  see  the 
green  hills  again,  and  all  were  more  cheerful  after 
this  episode  than  anybody  could  have  expected 
them  to  be,  considering  how  sinfully  early  they  had 
gotten  up. 

But  we  had  to  change  our  purpose  about  San 
Miguel,  for  a  storm  came  up  about  noon  that  so 
tossed  and  pitched  the  vessel  that  common  sense 
dictated  a  run  for  shelter.  Therefore  we  steered  for 
the  nearest  island  of  the  group  —  Fayal  (the  people 
there  pronounce  it  Fy-all,  and  put  the  accent  on  the 
first  syllable).  We  anchored  in  the  open  ^oadstead 
of  Horta,  half  a  mile  from  the  shore.  The  town 
has  eight  thousand  to  ten  thousand  inhabitants.  Its 
snow-white  houses  nestle  cosily  in  a  sea  of  fresh 
green  vegetation,  and  no  village  could  look  prettier 
or  more  attractive.  It  sits  in  the  lap  of  an  amphi 
theater  of  hills  which  are  three  hundred  to  seven 
6. 


82  The  Innocents  Abroad 

hundred  feet  high,  and  carefully  cultivated  clear  to 
their  summits  —  not  a  foot  of  soil  left  idle.  Every 
farm  and  every  acre  is  cut  up  into  little  square  in- 
closures  by  stone  walls,  whose  duty  it  is  to  protect 
the  growing  products  from  the  destructive  gales  that 
blow  there.  These  hundreds  of  green  squares, 
marked  by  their  black  lava  walls,  make  the  hills 
look  like  vast  checker-boards. 

The  islands  belong  to  Portugal,  and  everything  in 
Fayal  has  Portuguese  characteristics  about  it.  But 
more  of  that  anon.  A  swarm  of  swarthy,  noisy, 
lying,  shoulder-shrugging,  gesticulating  Portuguese 
boatmen,  with  brass  rings  in  their  ears,  and  fraud  in 
their  hearts,  climbed  the  ship's  sides,  and  various 
parties  of  us  contracted  with  them  to  take  us  ashore 
at  so  much  a  head,  silver  coin  of  any  country.  We 
landed  under  the  walls  of  a  little  fort,  armed  with 
batteries  of  twelve  and  thirty-two  pounders,  which 
Horta  considered  a  most  formidable  institution,  but 
if  we  were  ever  to  get  after  it  with  one  of  our  tur- 
reted  monitors,  they  would  have  to  move  it  out  in 
the  country  if  they  wanted  it  where  they  could  go 
and  find  it  again  when  they  needed  it.  The  group 
on  the  pier  was  a  rusty  one  —  men  and  women, 
and  boys  and  girls,  all  ragged  and  barefoot,  un 
combed  and  unclean,  and  by  instinct,  education,  and 
profession,  beggars.  They  trooped  after  us,  and 
never  more,  while  we  tarried  in  Fayal,  did  we  get 
rid  of  them.  We  walked  up  the  middle  of  the  prin 
cipal  street,  and  these  vermin  surrounded  us  on  all 


The  Innocents  Abroad  83 

sides,  and  glared  upon  us;  and  every  moment  ex 
cited  couples  shot  ahead  of  the  procession  to  get  a 
good  look  back,  just  as  village  boys  do  when  they 
accompany  the  elephant  on  his  advertising  trip  from 
street  to  street.  It  was  very  flattering  to  me  to  be 
part  of  the  material  for  such  a  sensation.  Here  and 
there  in  the  doorways  we  saw  women,  with  fashion 
able  Portuguese  hoods  on.  This  hood  is  of  thick 
blue  cloth,  attached  to  a  cloak  of  the  same  stuff,  and 
is  a  marvel  of  ugliness.  It  stands  up  high,  and 
spreads  far  abroad,  and  is  unfathomably  deep.  It 
fits  like  a  circus  tent,  and  a  woman's  head  is  hidden 
away  in  it  like  the  man's  who  prompts  the  singers 
from  his  tin  shed  in  the  stage  of  an  opera.  There  is 
no  particle  of  trimming  about  this  monstrous  capote, 
as  they  call  it — it  is  just  a  plain,  ugly  dead-blue 
mass  of  sail,  and  a  woman  can't  go  within  eight 
points  of  the  wind  with  one  of  them  on;  she  has  to 
go  before  the  wind  or  not  at  all.  The  general  style 
of  the  capote  is  the  same  in  all  the  islands,  and  will 
remain  so  for  the  next  ten  thousand  years,  but  each 
island  shapes  its  capotes  just  enough  differently  from 
the  others  to  enable  an  observer  to  tell  at  a  glance 
what  particular  island  a  lady  hails  from. 

The  Portuguese  pennies  or  reis  (pronounced  rays) 
are  prodigious.  It  takes  one  thousand  reis  to  make 
a  dollar,  and  all  financial  estimates  are  made  in  reis. 
We  did  not  know  this  until  after  we  had  found  it  out 
through  Blucher.  Blucher  said  he  was  so  happy 
and  so  grateful  to  be  on  solid  land  once  more,  that 


84  The  Innocents  Abroad 

he  wanted  to  give  a  feast  —  said  he  had  heard  it  was 
a  cheap  land,  and  he  was  bound  to  have  a  grand 
banquet.  He  invited  nine  of  us,  and  we  ate  an  ex 
cellent  dinner  at  the  principal  hotel.  In  the  midst 
of  the  jollity  produced  by  good  cigars,  good  wine, 
and  passable  anecdotes,  the  landlord  presented  his 
bill.  Blucher  glanced  at  it  and  his  countenance  fell. 
He  took  another  look  to  assure  himself  that  his 
senses  had  not  deceived  him,  and  then  read  the  items 
aloud,  in  a  faltering  voice,  while  the  roses  in  his 
cheeks  turned  to  ashes : 

"*Ten  dinners,  at  600  reis,  6,000  reis  P  Ruin 
and  desolation !" 

"'Twenty-five  cigars,  at  IOO  reis,  2,500  reis!' 
Oh,  my  sainted  mother!" 

"'Eleven  bottles  of  wine,  at  1,200  reis,  13,200 
reis!'  Be  with  us  all!" 

"  '  TOTAL,  TWENTY-ONE  THOUSAND  SEVEN  HUN 
DRED  REIS!'  The  suffering  Moses! — there  ain't 
money  enough  in  the  ship  to  pay  that  bill !  Go  — 
leave  me  to  my  misery,  boys,  I  am  a  ruined  com 
munity." 

I  think  it  was  the  blankest  looking  party  I  ever 
saw.  Nobody  could  say  a  word.  It  was  as  if  every 
soul  had  been  stricken  dumb.  Wine  glasses  de 
scended  slowly  to  the  table,  their  contents  untasted. 
Cigars  dropped  unnoticed  from  nerveless  fingers. 
Each  man  sought  his  neighbor's  eye,  but  found  in  it 
no  ray  of  hope,  no  encouragement.  At  last  the 
fearful  silence  was  broken.  The  shadow  of  a  des« 


The  Innocents  Abroad  85 

perate  resolve  settled  upon  Blucher's  countenance 
like  a  cloud,  and  he  rose  up  and  said: 

44  Landlord,  this  is  a  low,  mean  swindle,  and  I'll 
never,  never  stand  it.  Here's  a  hundred  and  fifty 
dollars,  sir,  and  it's  all  you'll  get  —  I'll  swim  in 
blood,  before  I'll  pay  a  cent  more." 

Our  spirits  rose  and  the  landlord's  fell  —  at  least 
we  thought  so ;  he  was  confused  at  any  rate,  not 
withstanding  he  had  not  understood  a  word  that  had 
been  said.  He  glanced  from  the  little  pile  of  gold 
pieces  to  Blucher  several  times,  and  then  went  out. 
He  must  have  visited  an  American,  for,  when  he 
returned,  he  brought  back  his  bill  translated  into  a 
language  that  a  Christian  could  understand  —  thus : 

10  dinners,  6,000  reis,  or        ... 
25  cigars,  2,500  reis,  or          / 

11  bottles  wine,  13,200  reis,  or      •         . 

Total  21,700  reis,  or  . 


Happiness  reigned  once  more  in  Blucher's  dinnei 
party.     More  refreshments  were  ordered 


CHAPTER  VL 

I  THINK  the  Azores  must  be  very  little  known  m 
America.  Out  of  our  whole  ship's  company 
there  was  not  a  solitary  individual  who  knew  any 
thing  whatever  about  them.  Some  of  the  party, 
well  read  concerning  most  other  lands,  had  no  other 
information  about  the  Azores  than  that  they  were  a 
group  of  nine  or  ten  small  islands  far  out  in  the 
Atlantic,  something  more  than  half  way  between 
New  York  and  Gibraltar.  That  was  all.  These  con 
siderations  move  me  to  put  in  a  paragraph  of  dry 
facts  just  here. 

The  community  is  eminently  Portuguese  —  that  is 
to  say,  it  is  slow,  poor,  shiftless,  sleepy,  and  lazy. 
There  is  a  civil  governor,  appointed  by  the  King  of 
Portugal;  and  also  a  military  governor,  who  can 
assume  supreme  control  and  suspend  the  civil  gov 
ernment  at  his  pleasure.  The  islands  contain  a 
population  of  about  200,000,  almost  entirely  Portu 
guese.  Everything  is  staid  and  settled,  for  the 
country  was  one  hundred  years  old  when  Columbus 
discovered  America.  The  principal  crop  is  corn, 
and  they  raise  it  and  grind  it  just  as  their  great-great- 

(86) 


The  Innocents  Abroad  87 

great-grandfathers  did.  They  plow  with  a  board 
slightly  shod  with  iron ;  their  trifling  little  harrows 
are  drawn  by  men  and  women;  small  windmills 
grind  the  corn,  ten  bushels  a  day,  and  there  is  one 
assistant  superintendent  to  feed  the  mill  and  a  gen 
eral  superintendent  to  stand  by  and  keep  him  from 
going  to  sleep.  When  the  wind  changes  they  hitch 
on  some  donkeys,  and  actually  turn  the  whole  upper 
half  of  the  mill  around  until  the  sails  are  in  proper 
position,  instead  of  fixing  the  concern  so  that  the 
sails  could  be  moved  instead  of  the  mill.  Oxen 
tread  the  wheat  from  the  ear,  after  the  fashion  pre 
valent  in  the  time  of  Methuselah.  There  is  not  a 
wheelbarrow  in  the  land  —  they  carry  everything  on 
their  heads,  or  on  donkeys,  or  in  a  wicker-bodied 
cart,  whose  wheels  are  solid  blocks  of  wood  and 
whose  axles  turn  with  the  wheel.  There  is  not  a 
modern  plow  in  the  islands,  or  a  threshing-machine. 
All  attempts  to  introduce  them  have  failed.  The 
good  Catholic  Portuguese  crossed  himself  and  prayed 
God  to  shield  him  from  all  blasphemous  desire  to 
know  more  than  his  father  did  before  him.  The 
climate  is  mild ;  they  never  have  snow  or  ice,  and  I 
saw  no  chimneys  in  the  town.  The  donkeys  and 
the  men,  women,  and  children  of  a  family,  all  eat 
and  sleep  in  the  same  room,  and  are  unclean,  are 
ravaged  by  vermin,  and  are  truly  happy.  The 
people  lie,  and  cheat  the  stranger,  and  are  desper 
ately  ignorant,  and  have  hardly  any  reverence  for 
their  dead.  The  latter  trait  shows  how  little  better 


88  The  Innocents  Abroad 

they  are  than  the  donkeys  they  eat  and  sleep  with. 
The  only  well-dressed  Portuguese  in  the  camp  are 
the  half  a  dozen  well-to-do  families,  the  Jesuit  priests, 
and  the  soldiers  of  the  little  garrison.  The  wages  of 
a  laborer  are  twenty  to  twenty-four  cents  a  day,  and 
those  of  a  good  mechanic  about  twice  as  much. 
They  count  it  in  reis  at  a  thousand  to  the  dollar,  and 
this  makes  them  rich  and  contented.  Fine  grapes 
used  to  grow  in  the  islands,  and  an  excellent  wine 
was  made  and  exported.  But  a  disease  killed  all 
the  vines  fifteen  years  ago,  and  since  that  time  no 
wine  has  been  made.  The  islands  being  wholly  of 
volcanic  origin,  the  soil  is  necessarily  very  rich. 
Nearly  every  foot  of  ground  is  under  cultivation, 
and  two  or  three  crops  a  year  of  each  article  are 
produced,  but  nothing  is  exported  save  a  few 
oranges  —  chiefly  to  England.  Nobody  comes  here, 
and  nobody  goes  away.  News  is  a  thing  unknown 
in  Fayal.  A  thirst  for  it  is  a  passion  equally  un 
known.  A  Portuguese  of  average  intelligence  in 
quired  if  our  civil  war  was  over?  because,  he  said, 
somebody  had  told  him  it  was  —  or,  at  least,  it  ran 
in  his  mind,  that  somebody  had  told  him  something 
like  that!  And  when  a  passenger  gave  an  officer 
of  the  garrison  copies  of  the  Tribune,  the  Herald, 
and  Times,  he  was  surprised  to  find  later  news  in 
them  from  Lisbon  than  he  had  just  received 
by  the  little  monthly  steamer.  He  was  told  that 
it  came  by  cable.  He  said  he  knew  they  had 
tried  to  lay  a  cable  ten  years  ago,  but  it  had 


The  Innocents  Abroad  89 

been    in     his    mind,   somehow,    that    they    hadn't 
succeeded ! 

It  is  in  communities  like  this  that  Jesuit  humbug- 
gery  flourishes.  We  visited  a  Jesuit  cathedral  nearly 
two  hundred  years  old,  and  found  in  it  a  piece  of  the 
veritable  cross  upon  which  our  Saviour  was  crucified. 
It  was  polished  and  hard,  and  in  as  excellent  a  state 
of  preservation  as  if  the  dread  tragedy  on  Calvary 
had  occurred  yesterday  instead  of  eighteen  centuries 
ago.  But  these  confiding  people  believe  in  that 
piece  of  wood  unhesitatingly. 

In  a  chapel  of  the  cathedral  is  an  altar  with 
facings  of  solid  silver  —  at  least,  they  call  it  so,  and 
I  think  myself  it  would  go  a  couple  of  hundred  to 
the  ton  (to  speak  after  the  fashion  of  the  silver 
miners), and  before  it  is  kept  forever  burning  a  small 
lamp.  A  devout  lady  who  died,  left  money  and 
contracted  for  unlimited  masses  for  the  repose  of 
her  soul,  and  also  stipulated  that  this  lamp  should 
be  kept  lighted  always,  day  and  night.  She  did  all 
this  before  she  died,  you  understand.  It  is  a  very 
small  lamp,  and  a  very  dim  one,  and  it  could  not 
work  her  much  damage,  I  think,  if  it  went  out 
altogether. 

The  great  altar  of  the  cathedral,  and  also  three  or 
four  minor  ones,  are  a  perfect  mass  of  gilt  gimcracks 
and  gingerbread.  And  they  have  a  swarm  of  rusty, 
dusty,  battered  apostles  standing  around  the  filigree 
work,  some  on  one  leg  and  some  with  one  eye  out 
but  a  gamey  look  in  the  other,  and  some  with  two 


90  The  Innocents  Abroad 

or  three  fingers  gone,  and  some  with  not  enough 
nose  left  to  blow  —  all  of  them  crippled  and  dis 
couraged,  and  fitter  subjects  for  the  hospital  than 
the  cathedral. 

The  walls  of  the  chancel  are  of  porcelain,  all 
pictured  over  with  figures  of  almost  life  size,  very 
elegantly  wrought,  and  dressed  in  the  fanciful  cos 
tumes  of  two  centuries  ago.  The  design  was  a  his 
tory  of  something  or  somebody,  but  none  of  us  were 
learned  enough  to  read  the  story.  The  old  father, 
reposing  under  a  stone  close  by,  dated  1686,  might 
have  told  us  if  he  could  have  risen.  But  he  didn't. 

As  we  came  down  through  the  town,  we  encoun 
tered  a  squad  of  little  donkeys  ready  saddled  for 
use.  The  saddles  were  peculiar,  to  say  the  least. 
They  consisted  of  a  sort  of  saw-buck,  with  a  small 
mattress  on  it,  and  this  furniture  covered  about  half 
the  donkey.  There  were  no  stirrups,  but  really 
such  supports  were  not  needed  —  to  use  such  a 
saddle  was  the  next  thing  to  riding  a  dinner  table  — 
there  was  ample  support  clear  out  to  one's  knee 
joints.  A  pack  of  ragged  Portuguese  muleteers 
crowded  around  us,  offering  their  beasts  at  half  a 
dollar  an  hour — more  rascality  to  the  stranger,  for 
the  market  price  is  sixteen  cents.  Half  a  dozen  of 
us  mounted  the  ungainly  affairs,  and  submitted  to 
the  indignity  of  making  a  ridiculous  spectacle  of 
ourselves  through  the  principal  streets  of  a  town  of 
10,000  inhabitants. 

We  started.     It  was  not  a  trot,  a  gallop,  or  a 


The  Innocents  Abroad  91 

canter,  but  a  stampede,  and  made  up  of  all  possible 
or  conceivable  gaits.  No  spurs  were  necessary. 
There  was  a  muleteer  to  every  donkey  and  a  dozen 
volunteers  beside,  and  they  banged  the  donkeys 
with  their  goad-sticks,  and  pricked  them  with  their 
spikes,  and  shouted  something  that  sounded  like 
44  Sekki-yah  /"  and  kept  up  a  din  and  a  racket  that 
was  worse  than  Bedlam  itself.  These  rascals  were 
all  on  foot,  but  no  matter,  they  were  always  up  to 
time  —  they  can  outrun  and  outlast  a  donkey. 
Altogether  ours  was  a  lively  and  picturesque  pro 
cession,  and  drew  crowded  audiences  to  the  balconies 
wherever  we  went. 

Blucher  could  do  nothing  at  all  with  his  donkey. 
The  beast  scampered  zigzag  across  the  road  and  the 
others  ran  into  him  ;  he  scraped  Blucher  against  carts 
and  the  corners  of  houses ;  the  road  was  fenced  in 
with  high  stone  walls,  and  the  donkey  gave  him  a 
polishing  first  on  one  side  and  then  on  the  other,  but 
never  once  took  the  middle ;  he  finally  came  to  the 
house  he  was  born  in  and  darted  into  the  parlor, 
scraping  Blucher  off  at  the  doorway.  After  re 
mounting,  Blucher  said  to  the  muleteer,  "  Now, 
that's  enough,  you  know;  you  go  slow  hereafter." 
But  the  fellow  knew  no  English  and  did  not  under 
stand,  so  he  simply  said,  "Sekki-yah!"  and  the 
donkey  was  off  again  like  a  shot.  He  turned  a 
corner  suddenly,  and  Blucher  went  over  his  head. 
And,  to  speak  truly,  every  mule  stumbled  over  the 
two,  and  the  whole  cavalcade  was  piled  up  in  a 


92  The  Innocents  Abroad 

heap.  No  harm  done.  A  fall  from  one  of  those 
donkeys  is  of  little  more  consequence  than  rolling 
off  a  sofa.  The  donkeys  all  stood  still  after  the 
catastrophe,  and  waited  for  their  dismembered  sad 
dles  to  be  patched  up  and  put  on  by  the  noisy 
muleteers.  Blucher  was  pretty  angry,  and  wanted 
to  swear,  but  every  time  he  opened  his  mouth  his 
animal  did  so  also,  and  let  off  a  series  of  brays  that 
drowned  all  other  sounds. 

It  was  fun,  skurrying  around  the  breezy  hills  and 
through  the  beautiful  caftons.  There  was  that  rare 
thing,  novelty,  about  it;  it  was  a  fresh,  new,  ex 
hilarating  sensation,  this  donkey  riding,  and  worth  a 
hundred  worn  and  threadbare  home  pleasures. 

The  roads  were  a  wonder,  and  well  they  might  be. 
Here  was  an  island  with  only  a  handful  of  people  in 
it  —  25,000  —  and  yet  such  fine  roads  do  not  exist 
in  the  United  States  outside  of  Central  Park.  Every 
where  you  go,  in  any  direction,  you  find  either  a 
hard,  smooth,  level  thoroughfare,  just  sprinkled  with 
black  lava  sand,  and  bordered  with  little  gutters 
neatly  paved  with  small  smooth  pebbles,  or  com 
pactly  paved  ones  like  Broadway.  They  talk  much 
of  the  Russ  pavement  in  New  York,  and  call  it  a 
new  invention  — yet  here  they  have  been  using  it  in 
this  remote  little  isle  of  the  sea  for  two  hundred 
years !  Every  street  in  Horta  is  handsomely  paved 
with  the  heavy  Russ  blocks,  and  the  surface  is  neat 
and  true  as  a  floor — not  marred  by  holes  like 
Broadway.  And  every  road  is  fenced  in  by  tall, 


The  Innocents  Abroad  9> 

solid  lava  walls,  which  will  last  a  thousand  years  in 
this  land  where  frost  is  unknown.  They  are  very 
thick,  and  are  often  plastered  and  whitewashed,  and 
capped  with  projecting  slabs  of  cut  stone.  Trees 
from  gardens  above  hang  their  swaying  tendril? 
down,  and  contrast  their  bright  green  with  the  white 
wash  or  the  black  lava  of  the  walls,  and  make  them 
beautiful.  The  trees  and  vines  stretch  across  these 
narrow  roadways  sometimes,  and  so  shut  out  the 
sun  that  you  seem  to  be  riding  through  a  tunnel. 
The  pavements,  the  roads,  and  the  bridges  are  all 
government  work. 

The  bridges  are  of  a  single  span  —  a  single  arch  — 
of  cut  stone,  without  a  support,  and  paved  on  top 
with  flags  of  lava  and  ornamental  pebble  work. 
Everywhere  are  walls,  walls,  walls, —  and  all  of  them 
tasteful  and  handsome  —  and  eternally  substantial ; 
and  everywhere  are  those  marvelous  pavements,  so 
neat,  so  smooth,  and  so  indestructible.  And  if  ever 
roads  and  streets,  and  the  outsides  of  houses,  were 
perfectly  free  from  any  sign  or  semblance  of  dirt  or 
dust  or  mud,  or  uncleanliness  of  any  kind,  it  is 
Horta,  it  is  Fayal.  The  lower  classes  of  the  people, 
in  their  persons  and  their  domiciles,  are  not  clean  — 
but  there  it  stops  —  the  town  and  the  island  are 
miracles  of  cleanliness. 

We  arrived  home  again  finally,  after  a  ten-mile 
excursion,  and  the  irrepressible  muleteers  scampered 
at  our  heels  through  the  main  street,  goading 
the  donkeys,  shouting  the  everlasting  "  Sekki-yah," 


94  The  Innocents  Abroad 

and   singing    "John    Brown's    Body 
English. 

When  we  were  dismounted  and  it  came  to  set 
tling,  the  shouting  and  jawing  and  swearing  and 
quarreling  among  the  muleteers  and  with  us,  was 
nearly  deafening.  One  fellow  would  demand  a 
dollar  an  hour  for  the  use  of  his  donkey ;  another 
claimed  half  a  dollar  for  pricking  him  up,  another  a 
quarter  for  helping  in  that  service,  and  about  four 
teen  guides  presented  bills  for  showing  us  the  way 
through  the  town  and  its  environs;  and  every 
vagrant  of  them  was  more  vociferous,  and  more 
vehement,  and  more  frantic  in  gesture  than  his 
neighbor.  We  paid  one  guide,  and  paid  for  one 
muleteer  to  each  donkey. 

The  mountains  on  some  of  the  islands  are  very 
high.  We  sailed  along  the  shore  of  the  Island  of 
Pico,  under  a  stately  green  pyramid  that  rose  up 
with  one  unbroken  sweep  from  our  very  feet  to  an 
altitude  of  7,613  feet,  and  thrust  its  summit  above 
the  white  clouds  like  an  island  adrift  in  a  fog ! 

We  got  plenty  of  fresh  oranges,  lemons,  figs, 
apricots,  etc.,  in  these  Azores,  of  course.  But  I 
will  desist.  I  am  not  here  to  write  patent  office 
reports. 

We  are  on  our  way  to  Gibraltar,  and  shall  reach 
there  five  or  six  days  out  from  the  Azores. 


CHAPTER   VII 

RWEEK  of  buffeting  a  tempestuous  and  relent 
less  sea ;  a  week  of  seasickness  and  deserted 
cabins ;  of  lonely  quarter-decks  drenched  with  spray 
—  spray  so  ambitious  that  it  even  coated  the  smoke 
stacks  thick  with  a  white  crust  of  salt  to  their  very 
tops ;  a  week  of  shivering  in  the  shelter  of  the  life 
boats  and  deck-houses  by  day,  and  blowing  suffo 
cating  "  clouds"  and  boisterously  performing  at 
dominoes  in  the  smoking-room  at  night. 

And  the  last  night  of  the  seven  was  the  stormiest 
of  all.  There  was  no  thunder,  no  noise  but  the 
pounding  bows  of  the  ship,  the  keen  whistling  of 
the  gale  through  the  cordage,  and  the  rush  of  the 
seething  waters.  But  the  vessel  climbed  aloft  as  if 
she  would  climb  to  heaven  —  then  paused  an  instant 
that  seemed  a  century,  and  plunged  headlong  down 
again,  as  from  a  precipice.  The  sheeted  sprays 
drenched  the  decks  like  rain.  The  blackness  of 
darkness  was  everywhere.  At  long  intervals  a  flash 
of  lightning  clove  it  with  a  quivering  line  of  fire,  that 
revealed  a  heaving  world  of  water  where  was  nothing 
before,  kindled  the  dusky  cordage  to  glittering  silver, 

(95) 


96  The  Innocents  Abroad 

and  lit  up  the  faces  of  the  men  with  a  ghastly 
luster ! 

Fear  drove  many  on  deck  that  were  used  to  avoid 
ing  the  night  winds  and  the  spray.  Some  thought 
the  vessel  could  not  live  through  the  night,  and  it 
seemed  less  dreadful  to  stand  out  in  the  midst  of  the 
wild  tempest  and  see  the  peril  that  threatened  than 
to  be  shut  up  in  the  sepulchral  cabins,  under  the 
dim  lamps,  and  imagine  the  horrors  that  were  abroad 
on  the  ocean.  And  once  out  —  once  where  they 
could  see  the  ship  struggling  in  the  strong  grasp  of 
the  storm  —  once  where  they  could  hear  the  shriek 
of  the  winds,  and  face  the  driving  spray  and  look 
out  upon  the  majestic  picture  the  lightnings  dis 
closed,  they  were  prisoners  to  a  fierce  fascination 
they  could  not  resist,  and  so  remained.  It  was  a 
wild  night — and  a  very,  very  long  one. 

Everybody  was  sent  scampering  to  the  deck  at 
seven  o'clock  this  lovely  morning  of  the  3Oth  of 
June  with  the  glad  news  that  land  was  in  sight !  It 
was  a  rare  thing  and  a  joyful,  to  see  all  the  ship's 
family  abroad  once  more,  albeit  the  happiness  that 
sat  upon  every  countenance  could  only  partly  con 
ceal  the  ravages  which  that  long  siege  of  storms  had 
wrought  there.  But  dull  eyes  soon  sparkled  with 
pleasure,  pallid  cheeks  flushed  again,  and  frames 
weakened  by  sickness  gathered  new  life  from  the 
quickening  influences  of  the  bright,  fresh  morning. 
Yea,  and  from  a  still  more  potent  influence :  the 
worn  castaways  were  to  see  the  blessed  land  again  1 


The  Innocents  Abroad  97 

—  and  to  see  it  was  to  bring  back  that  mother-land 
that  was  in  all  their  thoughts. 

Within  the  hour  we  were  fairly  within  the  Straits 
of  Gibraltar,  the  tall  yellow-splotched  hills  of  Africa 
on  our  right,  with  their  bases  veiled  in  a  blue  haze 
and  their  summits  swathed  in  clouds  —  the  same 
being  according  to  Scripture,  which  says  that 
"clouds  and  darkness  are  over  the  land."  The 
words  were  spoken  of  this  particular  portion  of 
Africa,  I  believe.  On  our  left  were  the  granite- 
ribbed  domes  of  old  Spain.  The  Strait  is  only 
thirteen  miles  wide  in  its  narrowest  part. 

At  short  intervals,  along  the  Spanish  shore,  were 
quaint-looking  old  stone  towers  —  Moorish,  we 
thought  —  but  learned  better  afterward.  In  former 
times  the  Morocco  rascals  used  to  coast  along  the 
Spanish  Main  in  their  boats  till  a  safe  opportunity 
seemed  to  present  itself,  and  then  dart  in  and  cap 
ture  a  Spanish  village,  and  carry  off  all  the  pretty 
women  they  could  find.  It  was  a  pleasant  business, 
and  was  very  popular.  The  Spaniards  built  these 
watch  towers  on  the  hills  to  enabk  them  to  keep  a 
sharper  lookout  on  the  Moroccan  speculators. 

The  picture,  on  the  other  hand,  was  very  beauti 
ful  to  eyes  weary  of  the  changeless  sea,  and  by  and 
by  the  ship's  company  grew  wonderfully  cheerful. 
But  while  we  stood  admiring  the  cloud-capped  peaks 
and  the  lowlands  robed  in  misty  gloom,  a  finer 
picture  burst  upon  us  and  chained  every  eye  like  a 
magnet  —  a  stately  ship,  with  canvas  piled  on  canvas 
7. 


98  The  Innocents  Abroad 

till  she  was  one  towering  mass  of  bellying  sail !  She 
came  speeding  over  the  sea  like  a  great  bird. 
Africa  and  Spain  were  forgotten.  All  homage  was 
for  the  beautiful  stranger.  While  everybody  gazed, 
she  swept  superbly  by  and  flung  the  Stars  and 
Stripes  to  the  breeze !  Quicker  than  thought,  hats 
and  handkerchiefs  flashed  in  the  air,  and  a  cheer 
went  up !  She  was  beautiful  before  —  she  was 
radiant  now.  Many  a  one  on  our  decks  knew  then 
for  the  first  time  how  tame  a  sight  his  country's 
flag  is  at  home  compared  to  what  it  is  in  a  foreign 
land.  To  see  it  is  to  see  a  vision  of  home  itself  and 
all  its  idols,  and  feel  a  thrill  that  would  stir  a  very 
river  of  sluggish  blood  ! 

We  were  approaching  the  famed  Pillars  of  Her 
cules,  and  already  the  African  one,  "Ape's  Hill," 
a  grand  old  mountain  with  summit  streaked  with 
granite  ledges,  was  in  sight.  The  other,  the  great 
Rock  of  Gibraltar,  was  yet  to  come.  The  ancients 
considered  the  Pillars  of  Hercules  the  head  of  navi 
gation  and  the  end  of  the  world.  The  information 
the  ancients  didn't  have  was  very  voluminous.  Even 
the  prophets  wrote  book  after  book  and  epistle  after 
epistle,  yet  never  once  hinted  at  the  existence  of  a 
great  continent  on  our  side  of  the  water ;  yet  they 
must  have  known  it  was  there,  I  should  think. 

In  a  few  moments  a  lonely  and  enormous  mass  of 
rock,  standing  seemingly  in  the  center  of  the  wide 
strait  and  apparently  washed  on  all  sides  by  the  sea, ' 
swung  magnificently  into  view,  and  we  needed  no 


The  Innocents  Abroad  99 

tedious  traveled  parrot  to  tell  us  it  was  Gibraltar. 
There  could  not  be  two  rocks  like  that  in  one  king 
dom. 

The  Rock  of  Gibraltar  is  about  a  mile  and  a  half 
long,  I  should  say,  by  1,400  to  1,500  feet  high,  and 
a  quarter  of  a  mile  wide  at  its  base.  One  side  and 
one  end  of  it  come  about  as  straight  up  out  of  the 
sea  as  the  side  of  a  house,  the  other  end  is  irregular 
and  the  other  side  is  a  steep  slant  which  an  army 
would  find  very  difficult  to  climb.  At  the  foot  of 
this  slant  is  the  walled  town  of  Gibraltar  —  or  rather 
the  town  occupies  part  of  the  slant.  Everywhere  — 
on  hillside,  in  the  precipice,  by  the  sea,  on  the 
heights, —  everywhere  you  choose  to  look,  Gibraltar 
is  clad  with  masonry  and  bristling  with  guns.  It 
makes  a  striking  and  lively  picture,  from  whatsoever 
point  you  contemplate  it.  It  is  pushed  out  into  the 
sea  on  the  end  of  a  flat,  narrow  strip  of  land,  and  is 
suggestive  of  a  '  *  gob  ' '  of  mud  on  the  end  of  a 
shingle.  A  few  hundred  yards  of  this  flat  ground  at 
its  base  belongs  to  the  English,  and  then,  extending 
across  the  strip  from  the  Atlantic  to  the  Mediter 
ranean,  a  distance  of  a  quarter  of  a  mile,  comes  the 
"Neutral  Ground,"  a  space  two  or  three  hundred 
yards  wide,  which  is  free  to  both  parties. 

*'  Are  you  going  through  Spain  to  Paris?"  That 
question  was  bandied  about  the  ship  day  and  night 
from  Fayal  to  Gibraltar,  and  I  thought  I  never  could 
get  so  tired  of  hearing  any  one  combination  of  words 
again,  or  more  tired  of  answering,  "  I  don't  know." 


100  The  Innocents  Abroad 

At  the  last  moment  six  or  seven  had  sufficient 
decision  of  character  to  make  up  their  minds  to  go, 
and  did  go,  and  I  felt  a  sense  of  relief  at  once  —  it 
was  forever  too  late,  now,  and  I  could  make  up  my 
mind  at  my  leisure,  not  to  go.  I  must  have  a  pro 
digious  quantity  of  mind ;  it  takes  me  as  much  as  a 
week,  sometimes,  to  make  it  up. 

But  behold  how  annoyances  repeat  themselves. 
tVe  had  no  sooner  gotten  rid  of  the  Spain  distress 
than  the  Gibraltar  guides  started  another  —  a  tire 
some  repetition  of  a  legend  that  had  nothing  very 
astonishing  about  it,  even  in  the  first  place:  "That 
high  hill  yonder  is  called  the  Queen's  Chair;  it  is 
because  one  of  the  queens  of  Spain  placed  her  chair 
there  when  the  French  and  Spanish  troops  were  be 
sieging  Gibraltar,  and  said  she  would  never  move 
from  the  spot  till  the  English  flag  was  lowered  from 
the  fortresses.  If  the  English  hadn't  been  gallant 
enough  to  lower  the  flag  for  a  few  hours  one  day, 
she'd  have  had  to  break  her  oath  or  die  up  there." 

We  rode  on  asses  and  mules  up  the  steep,  narrow 
streets  and  entered  the  subterranean  galleries  the 
English  have  blasted  out  in  the  rock.  These  gal 
leries  are  like  spacious  railway  tunnels,  and  at  short 
intervals  in  them  great  guns  frown  out  upon  sea  and 
town  through  portholes  five  or  six  hundred  feet 
above  the  ocean.  There  is  a  mile  or  so  of  this 
subterranean  work,  and  it  must  have  cost  a  vast  deal 
of  money  and  labor.  The  gallery  guns  command 
the  peninsula  and  the  harbors  of  both  oceans,  but 


The  Innocents  Abroad  10  V- 

they  might  as  well  not  be  there,  I  should  think,  for 
an  army  could  hardly  climb  the  perpendicular  wall 
of  the  rock  anyhow.  Those  lofty  portholes  afford 
superb  views  of  the  sea,  though.  At  one  place, 
where  a  jutting  crag  was  hollowed  out  into  a  great 
chamber  whose  furniture  was  huge  cannon  and 
whose  windows  were  portholes,  a  glimpse  was 
caught  of  a  hill  not  far  away,  and  a  soldier  said : 

"That  high  hill  yonder  is  called  the  Queen's 
Chair;  it  is  because  a  queen  of  Spain  placed  her 
chair  there  once,  when  the  French  and  Spanish 
troops  were  besieging  Gibraltar,  and  said  she  would 
never  move  from  the  spot  till  the  English  flag  was 
lowered  from  the  fortresses.  If  the  English  hadn't 
been  gallant  enough  to  lower  the  flag  for  a  few 
hours,  one  day,  she'd  have  had  to  break  her  oath 
or  die  up  there." 

On  the  topmost  pinnacle  of  Gibraltar  we  halted  a 
good  while,  and  no  doubt  the  mules  were  tired. 
They  had  a  right  to  be.  The  military  road  was 
good,  but  rather  steep,  and  there  was  a  good  deal 
of  it.  The  view  from  the  narrow  ledge  was  magnifi 
cent  ;  from  it  vessels  seeming  like  the  tiniest  little 
toy  boats,  were  turned  into  noble  ships  by  the  tele 
scopes  ;  and  other  vessels  that  were  fifty  miles  away, 
and  even  sixty,  they  said,  and  invisible  to  the  naked 
eye,  could  be  clearly  distinguished  through  those 
same  telescopes.  Below,  on  one  side,  we  looked 
down  upon  an  endless  mass  of  batteries,  and  on  the 
other  straight  down  to  the  sea. 


tot  Tie  Innocents  Abroad 

While  I  was  resting  ever  so  comfortably  on  a 
rampart,  and  cooling  my  baking  head  in  the  delicious 
breeze,  an  officious  guide  belonging  to  another  party 
came  up  and  said  : 

"Senor,  that  high  hill  yonder  is  called  the 
Queen's  Chair " 

"  Sir,  I  am  a  helpless  orphan  in  a  foreign  land. 
Have  pity  on  me.  Don't — now  don't  inflict  that 
most  in-FERNAL  old  legend  on  me  any  more  to 
day!" 

There  —  I  had  used  strong  language,  after  prom 
ising  I  would  never  do  so  again ;  but  the  provoca 
tion  was  more  than  human  nature  could  bear.  If 
you  had  been  bored  so,  when  you  had  the  noble 
panorama  of  Spain  and  Africa  and  the  blue  Mediter 
ranean  spread  abroad  at  your  feet,  and  wanted  to 
gaze,  and  enjoy,  and  surfeit  yourself  with  its  beauty 
in  silence,  you  might  have  even  burst  into  stronger 
language  than  I  did. 

Gibraltar  has  stood  several  protracted  sieges,  one  of 
them  of  nearly  four  years'  duration  (it  failed),  and 
the  English  only  captured  it  by  stratagem.  The 
wonder  is  that  anybody  should  ever  dream  of  trying 
so  impossible  a  project  as  the  taking  it  by  assault  — 
and  yet  it  has  been  tried  more  than  once. 

The  Moors  held  the  place  twelve  hundred  years 
ago,  and  a  staunch  old  castle  of  theirs  of  that  date 
still  frowns  from  the  middle  of  the  town,  with  moss- 
grown  battlements  and  sides  well  scarred  by  shots 
fired  in  battles  and  sieges  that  are  forgotten  now. 


The  Innocents  Abroad  10j 

A  secret  chamber,  in  the  rock  behind  it,  was  dis 
covered  some  time  ago,  which  contained  a  sword  of 
exquisite  workmanship,  and  some  quaint  old  armor 
of  a  fashion  that  antiquaries  are  not  acquainted  with, 
though  it  is  supposed  to  be  Roman.  Roman  armor 
and  Roman  relics,  of  various  kinds,  have  been  found 
in  a  cave  in  the  sea  extremity  of  Gibraltar ;  history 
says  Rome  held  this  part  of  the  country  about  the 
Christian  era,  and  these  things  seem  to  confirm  the 
statement. 

In  that  cave,  also,  are  found  human  bones,  crusted 
with  a  very  thick,  stony  coating,  and  wise  men  have 
ventured  to  say  that  those  men  not  only  lived  before 
the  flood,  but  as  much  as  ten  thousand  years  before 
it.  It  may  be  true  —  it  looks  reasonable  enough  — 
but  as  long  as  those  parties  can't  vote  any  more, 
the  matter  can  be  of  no  great  public  interest.  In 
this  cave,  likewise,  are  found  skeletons  and  fossils 
of  animals  that  exist  in  every  part  of  Africa,  yet 
within  memory  and  tradition  have  never  existed  in 
any  portion  of  Spain  save  this  lone  peak  of  Gibraltar ! 
So  the  theory  is  that  the  channel  between  Gibraltar 
and  Africa  was  once  dry  land,  and  that  the  low,  neutral 
neck  between  Gibraltar  and  the  Spanish  hills  behind 
it  was  once  ocean,  and,  of  course,  that  these  African 
animals,  being  over  at  Gibraltar  (after  rock,  per 
haps —  there  is  plenty  there),  got  closed  out  when 
the  great  change  occurred.  The  hills  in  Africa, 
across  the  channel,  are  full  of  apes,  and  there  are 
now,  and  always  have  been,  apes  on  the  rock  of 


104  The  Innocents  Abroad 

Gibraltar  —  but  not  elsewhere  in  Spain  !  The  sub 
ject  is  an  interesting  one. 

There  is  an  English  garrison  at  Gibraltar  of  6,000 
or  7,000  men,  and  so  uniforms  of  flaming  red  are 
plenty;  and  red  and  blue,  and  undress  costumes  of 
snowy  white,  and  also  the  queer  uniform  of  the  bare- 
kneed  Highlander;  and  one  sees  soft-eyed  Spanish 
girls  from  San  Roque,  and  veiled  Moorish  beauties 
(I  suppose  they  are  beauties)  from  Tarifa,  and 
turbaned,  sashed,  and  trowsered  Moorish  merchants 
from  Fez,  and  long-robed,  bare-legged,  ragged 
Mohammedan  vagabonds  from  Tetouan  and  Tangier, 
some  brown,  some  yellow,  and  some  as  black  as 
virgin  ink  —  and  Jews  from  all  around,  in  gaberdine, 
skull-cap,  and  slippers,  just  as  they  are  in  pictures 
and  theaters,  and  just  as  they  were  three  thousand 
years  ago,  no  doubt.  You  can  easily  understand 
that  a  tribe  (somehow  our  pilgrims  suggest  that  ex 
pression,  because  they  march  in  a  straggling  pro 
cession  through  these  foreign  places  with  such  an 
Indian-like  air  of  complacency  and  independence 
about  them)  like  ours,  made  up  from  fifteen  or  six 
teen  states  of  the  Union,  found  enough  to  stare  at 
in  this  shifting  panorama  of  fashion  to-day. 

Speaking  of  our  pilgrims  reminds  me  that  we  have 
one  or  two  people  among  us  who  are  sometimes  an 
annoyance.  However,  I  do  not  count  the  Oracle  in 
that  list.  I  will  explain  that  the  Oracle  is  an  inno 
cent  old  ass  who  eats  for  four  and  looks  wiser  than 
the  whole  Academy  of  France  would  have  any  right 


The  Innocents  Abroad  105 

to  look,  and  never  uses  a  one-syllable  word  when  he 
can  think  of  a  longer  one,  and  never  by  any  possible 
chance  knows  the  meaning  of  any  long  word  he 
uses,  or  ever  gets  it  in  the  right  place ;  yet  he  will 
serenely  venture  an  opinion  on  the  most  abstruse 
subject,  and  back  it  up  complacently  with  quotations 
from  authors  who  never  existed,  and  finally  when 
cornered  will  slide  to  the  other  side  of  the  question, 
say  he  has  been  there  all  the  time,  and  come  back 
at  you  with  your  own  spoken  arguments,  only  with 
the  big  words  all  tangled,  and  play  them  in  your 
very  teeth  as  original  with  himself.  He  reads  a 
chapter  in  the  guide  books,  mixes  the  facts  all  up, 
with  his  bad  memory,  and  then  goes  off  to  inflict 
the  whole  mess  on  somebody  as  wisdom  which  has 
been  festering  in  his  brain  for  years,  and  which  he 
gathered  in  college  from  erudite  authors  who  are 
dead  now  and  out  of  print.  This  morning  at  break 
fast  he  pointed  out  of  the  window,  and  said : 

"  Do  you  see  that  there  hill  out  there  on  that 
African  coast?  It's  one  of  them  Pillows  of  Her- 
kewls,  I  should  say  —  and  there's  the  ultimate  one 
alongside  of  it." 

"  The  ultimate  one  —  that  is  a  good  word  —  but 
the  Pillars  are  not  both  on  the  same  side  of  the 
strait."  (I  saw  he  had  been  deceived  by  a  care 
lessly  written  sentence  in  the  Guide  Book.) 

*  Well,    it   ain't   for   you    to    say,    nor   for   me. 

'Some  authors  states  it  that  way,  and  some  states  it 

different.     Old   Gibbons   don't    say   nothing   about 


106  The  Innocents  Abroad 

it, —  just  shirks  it  complete  —  Gibbons  always  done 
that  when  he  got  stuck  —  but  there  is  Rolampton, 
what  does  he  say?  Why,  he  says  that  they  was 
both  on  the  same  side,  and  Trinculian,  and  Sobaster, 
and  Syraccus,  and  Langomarganbl — 

**  Oh,  that  will  do  —  that's  enough.  If  you  have 
got  your  hand  in  for  inventing  authors  and  testi 
mony,  I  have  nothing  more  to  say  —  let  them  be  on 
the  same  side." 

We  don't  mind  the  Oracle.  We  rather  like  him. 
We  can  tolerate  the  Oracle  very  easily ;  but  we  have 
a  poet  and  a  good-natured,  enterprising  idiot  on 
board,  and  they  do  distress  the  company.  The  one 
gives  copies  of  his  verses  to  consuls,  commanders, 
hotel  keepers,  Arabs,  Dutch,  —  to  anybody,  in  fact, 
who  will  submit  to  a  grievous  infliction  most  kindly 
meant.  His  poetry  is  all  very  well  on  shipboard, 
notwithstanding  when  he  wrote  an  "Ode  to  the 
Ocean  in  a  Storm"  in  one  half-hour,  and  an 
"Apostrophe  to  the  Rooster  in  the  Waist  of  the 
Ship  "  in  the  next,  the  transition  was  considered  to 
be  rather  abrupt;  but  when  he  sends  an  invoice  of 
rhymes  to  the  governor  of  Fayal  and  another  to  the 
commander-in-chief  and  other  dignitaries  in  Gib 
raltar,  with  the  compliments  of  the  Laureate  of  the 
Ship,  it  is  not  popular  with  the  passengers. 

The  other  personage  I  have  mentioned  is  young 
and  green,  and  not  bright,  not  learned,  and  not  wise. 
He  will  be,  though,  some  day,  if  he  recollects  the 
answers  to  all  his  questions.  He  is  known  about 


The  Innocents  Abroad  107 

the  ship  as  the  "Interrogation  Point,"  and  this  by 
constant  use  has  become  shortened  to  "Interroga 
tion."  He  has  distinguished  himself  twice  already. 
In  Fayal  they  pointed  out  a  hill  and  told  him  it  was 
eight  hundred  feet  high  and  eleven  hundred  feet 
long.  And  they  told  him  there  was  a  tunnel  two 
thousand  feet  long  and  one  thousand  feet  high  run 
ning  through  the  hill,  from  end  to  end.  He  believed 
it.  He  repeated  it  to  everybody,  discussed  it,  and 
read  it  from  his  notes.  Finally,  he  took  a  useful 
hint  from  this  remark  which  a  thoughtful  old  pilgrim 
made : 

"Well,  yes,  it  is  a  little  remarkable  —  singular 
tunnel  altogether  —  stands  up  out  of  the  top  of  the 
hill  about  two  hundred  feet,  and  one  end  of  it  sticks 
out  of  the  hill  about  nine  hundred! " 

Here  in  Gibraltar  he  corners  these  educated 
British  officers  and  badgers  them  with  braggadocio 
about  America  and  the  wonders  she  can  perform. 
He  told  one  of  them  a  couple  of  our  gunboats  could 
come  here  and  knock  Gibraltar  into  the  Mediter 
ranean  sea! 

At  this  present  moment,  half  a  dozen  of  us  are 
taking  a  private  pleasure  excursion  of  our  own 
devising.  We  form  rather  more  than  half  the  list  of 
white  passengers  on  board  a  small  steamer  bound 
for  the  venerable  Moorish  town  of  Tangier,  Africa. 
Nothing  could  be  more  absolutely  certain  than  that 
we  are  enjoying  ourselves.  One  cannot  do  other 
wise  who  speeds  over  these  sparkling  waters,  and 


108  The  Innocents  Abroad 

breathes  the  soft  atmosphere  of  this  sunny  land. 
Care  cannot  assail  us  here.  We  are  out  of  its 
jurisdiction. 

We  even  steamed  recklessly  by  the  frowning  fort 
ress  of  Malabat  (a  stronghold  of  the  Emperor  of 
Morocco),  without  a  twinge  of  fear.  The  whole 
garrison  turned  out  under  arms,  and  assumed  a 
threatening  attitude  —  yet  still  we  did  not  fear.  The 
entire  garrison  marched  and  counter-marched,  within 
the  rampart,  in  full  view  —  yet  notwithstanding  even 
this,  we  never  flinched. 

I  suppose  we  really  do  not  know  what  fear  is.  I 
inquired  the  name  of  the  garrison  of  the  fortress  of 
Malabat,  and  they  said  it  was  Mehemet  AH  Ben 
Sancom.  I  said  it  would  be  a  good  idea  to  get  some 
more  garrisons  to  help  him ;  but  they  said  no ;  he 
had  nothing  to  do  but  hold  the  place,  and  he  was 
competent  to  do  that;  had  done  it  two  years 
already.  That  was  evidence  which  one  could  not 
well  refute.  There  is  nothing  like  reputation. 

Every  now  and  then,  my  glove  purchase  in  Gib 
raltar  last  night  intrudes  itself  upon  me.  Dan  and 
the  ship's  surgeon  and  I  had  been  up  to  the  great 
square,  listening  to  the  music  of  the  fine  military 
bands,  and  contemplating  English  and  Spanish 
female  loveliness  and  fashion,  and,  at  9  o'clock, 
were  on  our  way  to  the  theater,  when  we  met  the 
General,  the  Judge,  the  Commodore,  the  Colonel, 
and  the  Commissioner  of  the  United  States  of 
America  to  Europe,  Asia,  and  Africa,  who  had  been 


The  Innocents  Abroad  109 

to  the  Club  House,  to  register  their  several  titles 
and  impoverish  the  bill  of  fare ;  and  they  told  us  to 
go  over  to  the  little  variety  store,  near  the  Hall  of 
Justice,  and  buy  some  kid  gloves.  They  said  they 
were  elegant,  and  very  moderate  in  price.  It  seemed 
a  stylish  thing  to  go  to  the  theater  in  kid  gloves, 
and  we  acted  upon  the  hint.  A  very  handsome 
young  lady  in  the  store  offered  me  a  pair  of  blue 
gloves.  I  did  not  want  blue,  but  she  said  they 
would  look  very  pretty  on  a  hand  like  mine.  The 
remark  touched  me  tenderly.  I  glanced  furtively  at 
my  hand,  and  somehow  it  did  seem  rather  a  comely 
member.  I  tried  a  glove  on  my  left,  and  blushed  a 
little.  Manifestly  tfie  size  ,vas  too  small  for  me. 
But  I  felt  gratified  when  she  said : 

"  Oh,  it  is  just  right!" — yet  I  knew  it  was  no 
such  thing. 

I  tugged  at  it  diligently,  but  it  was  discouraging 
work.  She  said: 

"  Ah!  I  seejy0«  are  accustomed  to  wearing  kid 
gloves  —  but  some  gentlemen  are  so  awkward  about 
putting  them  on." 

It  was  the  last  compliment  I  had  expected.  I 
only  understand  putting  on  the  buckskin  article 
perfectly.  I  made  another  effort,  and  tore  the  glove 
from  the  base  of  the  thumb  into  the  palm  ot  the 
hand  —  and  tried  to  hide  the  rent.  She  kept  up  her 
compliments,  and  I  kept  up  my  determination  to 
deserve  them  or  die : 

44  Ah,  you  have  had  experience!"     [A  rip  down 

8 


110  The  Innocents  Abroad 

the  back  of  the  hand.]  "  They  are  just  right  for 
you  —  your  hand  is  very  small  —  if  they  tear  you 
need  not  pay  for  them."  [A  rent  across  the  mid 
dle.]  "  I  can  always  tell  when  a  gentleman  under 
stands  putting  on  kid  gloves.  There  is  a  grace 
about  it  that  only  comes  with  long  practice." 
[The  whole  after  guard  of  the  glove  "  fetched 
away,"  as  the  sailors  say,  the  fabric  parted  across 
the  knuckles,  and  nothing  was  left  but  a  melancholy 
ruin.] 

I  was  too  much  flattered  to  make  an  exposure, 
and  throw  the  merchandise  on  the  angel's  hands.  I 
was  hot,  vexed,  confused,  but  still  happy;  but  I 
hated  the  other  boys  for  taking  such  an  absorbing 
interest  in  the  proceedings.  I  wished  they  were  in 
Jericho.  I  felt  exquisitely  mean  when  I  said  cheer 
fully: 

"This  one  does  very  well;  it  fits  elegantly.  I 
like  a  glove  that  fits.  No,  never  mind,  ma'am, 
never  mind;  I'll  put  the  other  on  in  the  street.  It 
is  warm  here." 

It  was  warm.  It  was  the  warmest  place  I  ever 
was  in.  I  paid  the  bill,  and  as  I  passed  out  with  a 
fascinating  bow,  I  thought  I  detected  a  light  in  the 
woman's  eye  that  was  gently  ironical ;  and  when  I 
looked  back  from  the  street,  and  she  was  laughing 
all  to  herself  about  something  or  other,  I  said  to 
myself,  with  withering  sarcasm,  "  Oh,  certainly;  you 
know  how  to  put  on  kid  gloves,  don't  you?  —  a  self- 
complacent  ass,  ready  to  be  flattered  out  of  your 


The  Innocents  Abroad  111 

senses  by  every  petticoat  that  chooses  to  take  the 
trouble  to  do  it!'1 

The  silence  of  the  boys  annoyed  me.  Finally, 
Dan  said,  musingly: 

'*  Some  gentlemen  don't  know  how  to  put  on  kid 
gloves  at  all;  but  some  do." 

And  the  doctor  said  (to  the  moon,  I  thought)  : 

"  But  it  is  always  easy  to  tell  when  a  gentleman  is 
used  to  putting  on  kid  gloves." 

Dan  soliloquized,  after  a  pause: 

"Ah,  yes;  there  is  a  grace  about  it  that  only 
comes  with  long,  very  long  practice." 

'*  Yes,  indeed,  I've  noticed  that  when  a  man  hauls 
on  a  kid  glove  like  he  was  dragging  a  cat  out  of  an 
ash-hole  by  the  tail,  he  understands  putting  on  kid 
gloves ;  he's  had  ex ' ' 

"Boys,  enough  of  a  thing's  enough!  You  think 
you  are  very  smart,  I  suppose,  but  I  don't.  And  if 
you  go  and  tell  any  of  those  old  gossips  in  the  ship 
about  this  thing,  I'll  never  forgive  you  for  it;  that's 
all." 

They  let  me  alone  then,  for  the  time  being.  We 
always  let  each  other  alone  in  time  to  prevent  ill 
feeling  from  spoiling  a  joke.  But  they  had  bought 
gloves,  too,  as  I  did.  We  threw  all  the  purchases 
away  together  this  morning.  They  were  coarse, 
unsubstantial,  freckled  all  over  with  broad  yellow 
splotches,  and  could  neither  stand  wear  nor  public 
exhibition.  We  had  entertained  an  angel  unawares, 
but  we  did  not  take  her  in.  She  did  that  for  us. 


112  The  Innocents  Abroad 

Tangier !  A  tribe  of  stalwart  Moors  are  wading 
into  the  sea  to  carry  us  ashore  on  their  backs  from 
the  small  boats. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

is  royal !  Let  those  who  went  up  through 
1  Spain  make  the  best  of  it  —  these  dominions  of 
the  Emperor  of  Morocco  suit  our  little  party  well 
enough.  We  have  had  enough  of  Spain  at  Gibraltar 
for  the  present.  Tangier  is  the  spot  we  have  been 
longing  for  all  the  time.  Elsewhere  we  have  found 
foreign-looking  things  and  foreign-looking  people, 
but  always  with  things  and  people  intermixed  that 
we  were  familiar  with  before,  and  so  the  novelty  of 
the  situation  lost  a  deal  of  its  force.  We  wanted 
something  thoroughly  and  uncompromisingly  foreign 
—  foreign  from  top  to  bottom  —  foreign  from  center 
to  circumference  —  foreign  inside  and  outside  and 
all  around  —  nothing  anywhere  about  it  to  dilute  its 
foreignness  —  nothing  to  remind  us  of  any  other 
people  or  any  other  land  under  the  sun.  And  lo ! 
in  Tangier  we  have  found  it.  Here  is  not  the  slight 
est  thing  that  ever  we  have  seen  save  in  pictures  — • 
and  we  always  mistrusted  the  pictures  before.  We 
can  not  any  more.  The  pictures  used  to  seem  ex 
aggerations  —  they  seemed  too  weird  and  fanciful  for 
reality.  But  behold,  they  were  not  wild  enough  — 
8*  (113) 


114  The  Innocents  Abroad 

they  were  not  fanciful  enough  —  they  have  not  told 
half  the  story.  Tangier  is  a  foreign  land  if  ever 
there  was  one ;  and  the  true  spirit  of  it  can  never 
be  found  in  any  book  save  the  Arabian  Nights. 
Here  are  no  white  men  visible,  yet  swarms  of 
humanity  are  all  about  us.  Here  is  a  packed  and 
jammed  city  inclosed  in  a  massive  stone  wall  which 
is  more  than  a  thousand  years  old.  All  the  houses 
nearly  are  one  and  two  story ;  made  of  thick  walls 
of  stone ;  plastered  outside ;  square  as  a  dry-goods 
box;  flat  as  a  floor  on  top;  no  cornices;  white 
washed  all  over  —  a  crowded  city  of  snowy  tombs  ! 
And  the  doors  are  arched  with  a  peculiar  arch  we 
see  in  Moorish  pictures ;  the  floors  are  laid  in  vari 
colored  diamond  flags ;  in  tessellated  many-colored 
porcelain  squares  wrought  in  the  furnaces  of  Fez; 
in  red  tiles  and  broad  bricks  that  time  cannot  wear ; 
there  is  no  furniture  in  the  rooms  (of  Jewish  dwel 
lings)  save  divans  —  what  there  is  in  Moorish  ones 
no  man  may  know;  within  their  sacred  walls  no 
Christian  dog  can  enter.  And  the  streets  are  ori 
ental —  some  of  them  three  feet  wide,  some  six,  but 
only  two  that  are  over  a  dozen ;  a  man  can  blockade 
the  most  of  them  by  extending  his  body  across  them. 
Isn't  it  an  oriental  picture? 

There  are  stalwart  Bedouins  of  the  desert  here,  and 
stately  Moors,  proud  of  a  history  that  goes  back  to 
the  night  of  time;  and  Jews,  whose  fathers  fled 
hither  centuries  upon  centuries  ago  ;  and  swarthy 
Riffians  from  the  mountains  —  born  cutthroats  —  and 


The  Innocents  Abroad  115 

original,  genuine  negroes,  as  black  as  Moses;  and 
howling  dervishes,  and  a  hundred  breeds  of  Arabs 
—  all  sorts  and  descriptions  of  people  that  are  foreign 
and  curious  to  look  upon. 

And  their  dresses  are  strange  beyond  all  descrip 
tion.  Here  is  a  bronzed  Moor  in  a  prodigious  white 
turban,  curiously  embroidered  jacket,  gold  and  crim 
son  sash  of  many  folds,  wrapped  round  and  round 
his  waist,  trowsers  that  only  come  a  little  below  his 
knee,  and  yet  have  twenty  yards  of  stuff  in  them, 
ornamented  scimetar,  bare  shins,  stockingless  feet, 
yellow  slippers,  and  gun  of  preposterous  length  —  a 
mere  soldier !  —  I  thought  he  was  the  Emperor  at 
least.  And  here  are  aged  Moors  with  flowing  white 
beards,  and  long  white  robes  with  vast  cowls;  and 
Bedouins  with  long,  cowled,  striped  cloaks,  and 
negroes  and  Riffians  with  heads  clean-shaven,  except 
a  kinky  scalp-lock  back  of  the  ear,  or  rather  up  on 
the  after  corner  of  the  skull,  and  all  sorts  of  bar 
barians  in  all  sorts  of  weird  costumes,  and  all  more 
or  less  ragged.  And  here  are  Moorish  women  who 
are  enveloped  from  head  to  foot  in  coarse  white 
robes  and  whose  sex  can  only  be  determined  by  the 
fact  that  they  only  leave  one  eye  visible,  and  never 
look  at  men  of  their  own  race,  or  are  looked  at  by 
them  in  public.  Here  are  five  thousand  Jews  in  blue 
gaberdines,  sashes  about  their  waists,  slippers  upon 
their  feet,  little  skull-caps  upon  the  backs  of  their 
heads,  hair  combed  down  on  the  forehead,  and  cut 
straight  across  the  middle  of  it  from  side  to  side  — 

H» 


116  The  Innocents  Abroad 

the  self-same  fashion  their  Tangier  ancestors  have 
worn  for  I  don't  know  how  many  bewildering  cen 
turies.  Their  feet  and  ankles  are  bare.  Their  noses 
are  all  hooked,  and  hooked  alike.  They  all  resemble 
each  other  so  much  that  one  could  almost  believe 
they  were  of  one  family  Their  women  are  plump 
and  pretty,  and  do  smile  upon  a  Christian  in  a  way 
which  is  in  the  last  degree  comforting. 

What  a  funny  old  town  it  is !  It  seems  like  pro* 
fanation  to  laugh  and  jest  and  bandy  the  frivolous 
chat  of  our  day  amid  its  hoary  relics.  Only  the 
stately  phraseology  and  the  measured  speech  of  the 
sons  of  the  Prophet  are  suited  to  a  venerable 
antiquity  like  this.  Here  is  a  crumbling  wall  that 
was  old  when  Columbus  discovered  America;  was 
old  when  Peter  the  Hermit  roused  the  knightly  men 
of  the  Middle  Ages  to  arm  for  the  first  Crusade; 
was  old  when  Charlemagne  and  his  paladins  be 
leaguered  enchanted  castles  and  battled  with  giants 
and  genii  in  the  fabled  days  of  the  olden  time ;  was 
old  when  Christ  and  his  disciples  walked  the  earth ; 
stood  where  it  stands  to-day  when  the  lips  of 
Memnon  were  vocal,  and  men  bought  and  sold  in 
the  streets  of  ancient  Thebes ! 

The  Phoenicians,  the  Carthaginians,  the  English, 
Moors,  Romans,  all  have  battled  for  Tangier  —  all 
have  won  it  and  lost  it.  Here  is  a  ragged,  oriental- 
looking  negro  from  some  desert  place  in  interior 
Africa,  filling  his  goat-skin  with  water  from  a  stained 
and  battered  fountain  built  by  the  Romans  twelve 


The  Innocents  Abroad  117 

hundred  years  ago.  Yonder  is  a  ruined  arch  of  a 
bridge  built  by  Julius  Caesar  nineteen  hundred  years 
ago.  Men  who  had  seen  the  infant  Saviour  in  the 
Virgin's  arms  have  stood  upon  it,  may  be. 

Near  it  are  the  ruins  of  a  dockyard  where  Caesar 
repaired  his  ships  and  loaded  them  with  grain  when 
he  invaded  Britain,  fifty  years  before  the  Christian 
era. 

Here,  under  the  quiet  stars,  these  old  streets 
seemed  thronged  with  the  phantoms  of  forgotten 
ages.  My  eyes  are  resting  upon  a  spot  where  stood 
a  monument  which  was  seen  and  described  by 
Roman  historians  less  than  two  thousand  years  ago, 
whereon  was  inscribed : 

"WE  ARE  THE  CANAANITES.  WE  ARE  THEY 
THAT  HAVE  BEEN  DRIVEN  OUT  OF  THE  LAND  OF 
CANAAN  BY  THE  JEWISH  ROBBER,  JOSHUA." 

Joshua  drove  them  out,  and  they  came  here.  Not 
many  leagues  from  here  is  a  tribe  of  Jews  whose 
ancestors  fled  thither  after  an  unsuccessful  revolt 
against  King  David,  and  these  their  descendants  are 
still  under  a  ban  and  keep  to  themselves. 

Tangier  has  been  mentioned  in  history  for  three 
thousand  years.  And  it  was  a  town,  though  a  queer 
one,  when  Hercules,  clad  in  his  lion-skin,  landed 
here,  four  thousand  years  ago.  In  these  streets  he 
met  Anytus,  the  king  of  the  country,  and  brained 
him  with  his  club,  which  was  the  fashion  among  gen 
tlemen  in  those  days.  The  people  of  Tangier  (called 


118  The  Innocents  Abroad 

Tingis,  then)  lived  in  the  rudest  possible  huts,  and 
dressed  in  skins  and  carried  clubs,  and  were  as  sav 
age  as  the  wild  beasts  they  were  constantly  obliged 
to  war  with.  But  they  were  a  gentlemanly  race, 
and  did  no  work.  They  lived  on  the  natural  pro 
ducts  of  the  land.  Their  king's  country  residence 
was  at  the  famous  Garden  of  Hesperides,  seventy 
miles  down  the  coast  from  here.  The  garden,  with 
its  golden  apples  (oranges),  is  gone  now  —  no 
vestige  of  it  remains.  Antiquarians  concede  that 
such  a  personage  as  Hercules  did  exist  in  ancient 
times,  and  agree  that  he  was  an  enterprising  and 
energetic  man,  but  decline  to  believe  him  a  good, 
bona  fide  god,  because  that  would  be  unconstitu 
tional. 

Down  here  at  Cape  Spartel  is  the  celebrated  cave 
of  Hercules,  where  that  hero  took  refuge  when  he  was 
vanquished  and  driven  out  of  the  Tangier  country. 
It  is  full  of  inscriptions  in  the  dead  languages,  which 
fact  makes  me  think  Hercules  could  not  have  traveled 
much,  else  he  would  not  have  kept  a  journal. 

Five  days'  journey  from  here  —  say  two  hundred 
miles  —  are  the  ruins  of  an  ancient  city,  of  whose 
history  there  is  neither  record  nor  tradition.  And  yet 
its  arches,  its  columns,  and  its  statues,  proclaim  it 
to  have  been  built  by  an  enlightened  race. 

The  general  size  of  a  store  in  Tangier  is  about  that 
of  an  ordinary  shower-bath  in  a  civilized  land.  The 
Mohammedan  merchant,  tinman,  shoemaker,  or  ven 
der  of  trifles,  sits  cross-legged  on  the  floor,  and 


The  Innocents  Abroad  119 

reaches  after  any  article  you  may  want  to  buy.  You 
can  rent  a  who^e  block  of  these  pigeon-holes  for  fifty 
dollars  a  month.  The  market  people  crowd  the 
market-place  with  their  baskets  of  figs,  dates,  melons, 
apricots,  etc.,  and  among  them  file  trains  of  laden 
asses,  not  much  larger,  if  any,  than  a  Newfoundland 
dog.  The  scene  is  lively,  is  picturesque,  and  smells 
like  a  police  court.  The  Jewish  money-changers 
have  their  dens  close  at  hand ;  and  all  day  long  are 
counting  bronze  coins  and  transferring  them  from 
one  bushel  basket  to  another.  They  don't  coin 
much  money  now-a-days,  I  think.  I  saw  none  but 
what  was  dated  four  or  five  hundred  years  back,  and 
was  badly  worn  and  battered.  These  coins  are  not 
very  valuable.  Jack  went  out  to  get  a  napoleon 
changed,  so  as  to  have  money  suited  to  the  general 
cheapness  of  things,  and  came  back  and  said  he  had 
"  swamped  the  bank;  had  bought  eleven  quarts  of 
coin,  and  the  head  of  the  firm  had  gone  on  the  street 
to  negotiate  for  the  balance  of  the  change."  I 
bought  nearly  half  a  pint  of  their  money  for  a  shil 
ling  myself.  I  am  not  proud  on  account  of  having 
so  much  money,  though.  I  care  nothing  for  wealth. 
The  Moors  have  some  small  silver  coins,  and  also 
some  silver  slugs  worth  a  dollar  each.  The  latter 
are  exceedingly  scarce  —  so  much  so  that  when  poor 
ragged  Arabs  see  one  they  beg  to  be  allowed  to  kiss  it. 
They  have  also  a  small  gold  coin  worth  two  dol 
lars.  And  that  reminds  me  of  something.  When 
Morocco  is  in  a  state  of  war,  Arab  couriers  carry 


120  The  Innocents  Abroad 

letters  through  the  country,  and  charge  a  liberal 
postage.  Every  now  and  then  they  fall  into  the 
hands  of  marauding  bands  and  get  robbed.  There 
fore,  warned  by  experience,  as  soon  as  they  have 
collected  two  dollars'  worth  of  money  they  exchange 
it  for  one  of  those  little  gold  pieces,  and  when  rob 
bers  come  upon  them,  swallow  it.  The  stratagem 
was  good  while  it  was  unsuspected,  but  after  that  the 
marauders  simply  gave  the  sagacious  United  States 
mail  an  emetic  and  sat  down  to  wait. 

The  Emperor  of  Morocco  is  a  soulless  despot,  and 
the  great  officers  under  him  are  despots  on  a  smaller 
scale.  There  is  no  regular  system  of  taxation,  but 
when  the  Emperor  or  the  Bashaw  want  money,  they 
levy  on  some  rich  man,  and  he  has  to  furnish  the 
cash  or  go  to  prison.  Therefore,  few  men  in  Morocco 
dare  to  be  rich.  It  is  too  dangerous  a  luxury. 
Vanity  occasionally  leads  a  man  to  display  wealth, 
but  sooner  or  later  the  Emperor  trumps  up  a  charge 
against  him  —  any  sort  of  one  will  do  —  and  confis 
cates  his  property.  Of  course,  there  are  many  rich 
men  in  the  empire,  but  their  money  is  buried,  and 
they  dress  in  rags  and  counterfeit  poverty.  Every 
now  and  then  the  Emperor  imprisons  a  man  who  is 
suspected  of  the  crime  of  being  rich,  and  makes 
things  so  uncomfortable  for  him  that  he  is  forced  to 
discover  where  he  has  hidden  his  money. 

Moors  and  Jews  sometimes  place  themselves  under 
the  protection  of  the  foreign  consuls,  and  then  they  can 
flout  their  riches  in  the  Emperor's  face  with  impunity. 


CHAPTER   IX. 

7TBOUT  the  first  adventure  we  had  yesterday  after- 
«•  noon,  after  landing  here,  came  near  finishing 
that  heedless  Blucher.  We  had  just  mounted  some 
mules  and  asses,  and  started  out  under  the  guardian* 
ship  of  the  stately,  the  princely,  the  magnificent 
Hadji  Mohammed  Lamarty  (may  his  tribe  increase  !), 
when  we  came  upon  a  fine  Moorish  mosque,  with  tall 
tower,  rich  with  checker-work  of  many-colored  por 
celain,  and  every  part  and  portion  of  the  edifice 
adorned  with  the  quaint  architecture  of  the  Alham- 
bra,  and  Blucher  started  to  ride  into  the  open  door 
way.  A  startling  "Hi-hi !  "  from  our  camp  follow 
ers,  and  a  loud  "  Halt!  "  from  an  English  gentle 
man  in  the  party,  checked  the  adventurer,  and  then 
we  were  informed  that  so  dire  a  profanation  is  it  for 
a  Christian  dog  to  set  foot  upon  the  sacred  threshold 
of  a  Moorish  mosque,  that  no  amount  of  purification 
can  ever  make  it  fit  for  the  faithful  to  pray  in  again. 
Had  Blucher  succeeded  in  entering  the  place,  he 
would  no  doubt  have  been  chased  through  the  town 
and  stoned ;  and  the  time  has  been,  and  not  many 
years  ago  either,  when  a  Christian  would  have  been 

(HI) 


122  The  Innocents  Abroad 

most  ruthlessly  slaughtered,  if  captured  in  a  mosque. 
We  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  handsome  tessellated 
pavements  within,  and  of  the  devotees  performing 
their  ablutions  at  the  fountains;  but  even  that  we 
took  that  glimpse  was  a  thing  not  relished  by  the 
Moorish  bystanders. 

Some  years  ago  the  clock  in  the  tower  of  the 
mosque  got  out  of  order.  The  Moors  of  Tangier 
have  so  degenerated  that  it  has  been  long  since 
there  was  an  artificer  among  them  capable  of  curing 
so  delicate  a  patient  as  a  debilitated  clock.  The 
great  men  of  the  city  met  in  solemn  conclave  to  con 
sider  how  the  difficulty  was  to  be  met.  They  dis 
cussed  the  matter  thoroughly  but  arrived  at  no  solu 
tion.  Finally,  a  patriarch  arose  and  said : 

"  Oh,  children  of  the  Prophet,  it  is  known  unto 
you  that  a  Portuguee  dog  of  a  Christian  clockmender 
pollutes  the  city  of  Tangier  with  his  presence.  Ye 
know,  also,  that  when  mosques  are  builded,  asses 
bear  the  stones  and  the  cement,  and  cross  the  sacred 
threshold.  Now,  therefore,  send  the  Christian  dog 
on  all  fours,  and  barefoot,  into  the  holy  place  to 
mend  the  clock,  and  let  him  go  as  an  ass !  " 

And  in  that  way  it  was  done.  Therefore,  if 
Blucher  ever  sees  the  inside  of  a  mosque,  he  will 
have  to  cast  aside  his  humanity  and  go  in  his  natural 
character.  We  visited  the  jail,  and  found  Moorish 
prisoners  making  mats  and  baskets.  (This  thing  of 
utilizing  crime  savors  of  civilization.)  Murder  is 
punished  with  death.  A  short  time  ago  three  mur- 


The  Innocents  Abroad  123 

derers  were  taken  beyond  the  city  walls  and  shot. 
Moorish  guns  are  not  good,  and  neither  are  Moorish 
marksmen.  In  this  instance,  they  set  up  the  poor 
criminals  at  long  range,  like  so  many  targets,  and 
practiced  on  them  —  kept  them  hopping  about  and 
dodging  bullets  for  half  an  hour  before  they  man 
aged  to  drive  the  center. 

When  a  man  steals  cattle,  they  cut  off  his  right 
hand  and  left  leg,  and  nail  them  up  in  the  market 
place  as  a  warning  to  everybody.  Their  surgery  is 
not  artistic.  They  slice  around  the  bone  a  little; 
then  break  off  the  limb.  Sometimes  the  patient  gets 
well;  but,  as  a  general  thing,  he  don't.  However, 
the  Moorish  heart  is  stout.  The  Moors  were  always 
brave.  These  criminals  undergo  the  fearful  opera 
tion  without  a  wince,  without  a  tremor  of  any  kind, 
without  a  groan !  No  amount  of  suffering  can  bring 
down  the  pride  of  a  Moor,  or  make  him  shame  his 
dignity  with  a  cry. 

Here,  marriage  is  contracted  by  the  parents  of  the 
parties  to  it.  There  are  no  valentines,  no  stolen 
interviews,  no  riding  out,  no  courting  in  dim  parlors, 
no  lovers'  quarrels  and  reconciliations — no  nothing 
that  is  proper  to  approaching  matrimony.  The 
young  man  takes  the  girl  his  father  selects  for  him, 
marries  her,  and  after  that  she  is  unveiled,  and  he 
sees  her  for  the  first  time.  If,  after  due  acquaintance, 
she  suits  him,  he  retains  her;  but  if  he  suspects  her 
purity,  he  bundles  her  back  to  her  father ;  if  he  finds 
her  diseased,  the  same;  or  if,  after  just  and  reason- 


124  The  Innocents  Abroad 

able  time  is  allowed  her,  she  neglects  to  bear  chil 
dren,  back  she  goes  to  the  home  of  her  childhood. 

Mohammedans  here,  who  can  afford  it,  keep  a 
good  many  wives  on  hand.  They  are  called  wives, 
though  I  believe  the  Koran  only  allows  four  genuine 
wives  —  the  rest  are  concubines.  The  Emperor  of 
Morocco  don't  know  how  many  wives  he  has,  but 
thinks  he  has  five  hundred.  However,  that  is  near 
enough  —  a  dozen  or  so,  one  way  or  the  other,  don't 
matter. 

Even  the  Jews  in  the  interior  have  a  plurality  of 
wives. 

I  have  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  faces  of  several 
Moorish  women  (for  they  are  only  human,  and  will 
expose  their  faces  for  the  admiration  of  a  Christian 
dog  when  no  male  Moor  is  by),  and  I  am  full  of 
veneration  for  the  wisdom  that  leads  them  to  cover 
up  such  atrocious  ugliness. 

They  carry  their  children  at  their  backs,  in  a  sack, 
like  other  savages  the  world  over. 

Many  of  the  negroes  are  held  in  slavery  by  the 
Moors.  But  the  moment  a  female  slave  becomes 
her  master's  concubine  her  bonds  are  broken,  and 
as  soon  as  a  male  slave  can  read  the  first  chapter  of 
the  Koran  (which  contains  the  creed)  he  can  no 
longer  be  held  in  bondage. 

They  have  three  Sundays  a  week  in  Tangier.  The 
Mohammedan's  comes  on  Friday,  the  Jew's  on 
Saturday,  and  that  of  the  Christian  Consuls  on  Sun 
day.  The  Jews  are  the  most  radical.  The  Moor 


The  Innocents  Abroad  125 

goes  to  his  mosque  about  noon  on  his  Sabbath,  as 
on  any  other  day,  removes  his  shoes  at  the  door, 
performs  his  ablutions,  makes  his  salaams,  pressing 
his  forehead  to  the  pavement  time  and  again,  says 
his  prayers,  and  goes  back  to  his  work. 

But  the  Jew  shuts  up  shop ;  will  not  touch  copper 
or  bronze  money  at  all ;  soils  his  fingers  with  nothing 
meaner  than  silver  and  gold ;  attends  the  synagogue 
devoutly ;  will  not  cook  or  have  anything  to  do  with 
fire ;  and  religiously  refrains  from  embarking  in  any 
enterprise. 

The  Moor  who  has  made  a  pilgrimage  to  Mecca  is 
entitled  to  high  distinction.  Men  call  him  Hadji, 
and  he  is  thenceforward  a  great  personage.  Hun 
dreds  of  Moors  come  to  Tangier  every  year,  and 
embark  for  Mecca.  They  go  part  of  the  way  in 
English  steamers ;  and  the  ten  or  twelve  dollars  they 
pay  for  passage  is  about  all  the  trip  costs.  They 
take  with  them  a  quantity  of  food,  and  when  the 
commissary  department  fails  they  **  skirmish,"  as 
Jack  terms  it  in  his  sinful,  slangy  way.  From  the 
time  they  leave  till  they  get  home  again,  they  never 
wash,  either  on  land  or  sea.  They  are  usually  gone 
from  five  to  seven  months,  and  as  they  do  not 
change  their  clothes  during  all  that  time,  they  are 
totally  unfit  for  the  drawing-room  when  they  get 
back. 

Many  of  them  have  to  rake  and  scrape  a  long 
time  to  gather  together  the  ten  dollars  their  steamer 
passage  costs;  and  when  one  of  them  gets  back  he 


126  The  Innocents  Abroad 

is  a  bankrupt  forever  after.  Few  Moors  can  ever 
build  up  their  fortunes  again  in  one  short  lifetime, 
after  so  reckless  an  outlay.  In  order  to  confine  the 
dignity  of  Hadji  to  gentlemen  of  patrician  blood  and 
possessions,  the  Emperor  decreed  that  no  man 
should  make  the  pilgrimage  save  bloated  aristocrats 
who  were  worth  a  hundred  dollars  in  specie.  But 
behold  how  iniquity  can  circumvent  the  law !  For  a 
consideration,  the  Jewish  money-changer  lends  the 
pilgrim  one  hundred  dollars  long  enough  for  him  to 
swear  himself  through,  and  then  receives  it  back  be 
fore  the  ship  sails  out  of  the  harbor ! 

Spain  is  the  only  nation  the  Moors  fear.  The 
reason  is,  that  Spain  sends  her  heaviest  ships  of  war 
and  her  loudest  guns  to  astonish  these  Moslems; 
while  America,  and  other  nations,  send  only  a  little 
contemptible  tub  of  a  gunboat  occasionally.  The. 
Moors,  like  other  savages,  learn  by  what  they  see; 
not  what  they  hear  or  read.  We  have  great  fleets  in 
the  Mediterranean,  but  they  seldom  touch  at  African 
ports.  The  Moors  have  a  small  opinion  of  England, 
France,  and  America,  and  put  their  representatives 
to  a  deal  of  red-tape  circumlocution  before  they 
grant  them  their  common  rights,  let  alone  a  favor. 
But  the  moment  the  Spanish  minister  makes  a  de 
mand,  it  is  acceded  to  at  once,  whether  it  be  just 
or  not. 

Spain  chastised  the  Moors  five  or  six  years  ago, 
about  a  disputed  piece  of  property  opposite  Gib 
raltar,  and  captured  the  city  of  Tetouan.  She  com- 


The  Innocents  Abroad  127 

promised  on  an  augmentation  of  her  territory; 
twenty  million  dollars  indemnity  in  money;  and 
peace.  And  then  she  gave  up  the  city.  But  she 
never  gave  it  up  until  the  Spanish  soldiers  had  eaten 
up  all  the  cats.  They  would  not  compromise  as  long 
as  the  cats  held  out.  Spaniards  are  very  fond  of 
cats.  On  the  contrary,  the  Moors  reverence  cats  as 
something  sacred.  So  the  Spaniards  touched  them 
on  a  tender  point  that  time.  Their  unfeline  conduct 
in  eating  up  all  the  Tetouan  cats  aroused  a  hatred 
toward  them  in  the  breasts  of  the  Moors,  to  which 
even  the  driving  them  out  of  Spain  was  tame  and 
passionless.  Moors  and  Spaniards  are  foes  forever 
now.  France  had  a  minister  here  once  who  embit 
tered  the  nation  against  him  in  the  most  innocent 
way.  He  killed  a  couple  of  battalions  of  cats  (Tan 
gier  is  full  of  them)  and  made  a  parlor  carpet  out  of 
their  hides.  He  made  his  carpet  in  circles  —  first  a 
circle  of  old  gray  tom-cats,  with  their  tails  all  point 
ing  toward  the  center ;  then  a  circle  of  yellow  cats ; 
next  a  circle  of  black  cats  and  a  circle  of  white  ones ; 
then  a  circle  of  all  sorts  of  cats;  and,  finally,  a 
centerpiece  of  assorted  kittens.  It  was  very  beauti 
ful  ;  but  the  Moors  curse  his  memory  to  this  day. 

When  we  went  to  call  on  our  American  Consul- 
general,  to-day,  I  noticed  that  all  possible  games  for 
parlor  amusement  seemed  to  be  represented  on  his 
center-tables.  I  thought  that  hinted  at  lonesome- 
ness.  The  idea  was  correct.  His  is  the  only 
American  family  in  Tangier.  There  are  many 


128  The  Innocents  Abroad 

foreign  Consuls  in  this  place ;  but  much  visiting  is 
not  indulged  in.  Tangier  is  clear  out  of  the  world, 
and  what  is  the  use  of  visiting  when  people  have 
nothing  on  earth  to  talk  about?  There  is  none.  So 
each  consul's  family  stays  at  home  chiefly,  and 
amuses  itself  as  best  it  can.  Tangier  is  full  of  inter 
est  tor  one  day,  but  after  that  it  is  a  weary  prison. 
The  consul-general  has  been  here  five  years,  and  has 
got  enough  of  it  to  do  him  for  a  century,  and  is 
going  home  shortly.  His  family  seize  upon  their 
letters  and  papers  when  the  mail  arrives,  read  them 
over  and  over  again  for  two  days  or  three,  talk  them 
over  and  over  again  for  two  or  three  more,  till  they 
wear  them  out,  and  after  that,  for  days  together, 
they  eat  and  drink  and  sleep,  and  ride  out  over  the 
same  old  road,  and  see  the  same  old  tiresome  things 
that  even  decades  of  centuries  have  scarcely  changed, 
and  say  never  a  single  word !  They  have  literally 
nothing  whatever  to  talk  about.  The  arrival  of  an 
American  man-of-war  is  a  godsend  to  them.  '*  Oh, 
solitude,  where  are  the  charms  which  sages  have 
seen  in  thy  face?"  It  is  the  completest  exile  that  I 
can  conceive  of.  I  would  seriously  recommend  to 
the  government  of  the  United  States  that  when  a 
man  commits  a  crime  so  heinous  that  the  law  pro 
vides  no  adequate  punishment  for  it,  they  make  him 
consul-general  to  Tangier. 

I  am  glad  to  have  seen  Tangier  —  the  second 
oldest  town  in  the  world.  But  I  am  ready  to  bid  it 
good-bye,  I  believe. 


The  Innocents  Abroad  129 

We  shall  go  hence  to  Gibraltar  this  evening  or  in 
the  morning ;  and  doubtless  the  Quaker  City  will  sail 
from  that  port  within  the  next  forty-eight  hours. 


CHAPTER   X. 

WE  passed  the  Fourth  of  July  on  board  the 
Quaker  City,  in  mid-ocean.  It  was  in  all  re 
spects  a  characteristic  Mediterranean  day  —  fault 
lessly  beautiful.  A  cloudless  sky;  a  refreshing 
summer  wind;  a  radiant  sunshine  that  glinted 
cheerily  from  dancing  wavelets  instead  of  crested 
mountains  of  water;  a  sea  beneath  us  that  was  so 
wonderfully  blue,  so  richly,  brilliantly  blue,  that  it 
overcame  the  dullest  sensibilities  with  the  spell  of 
its  fascination. 

They  even  have  fine  sunsets  on  the  Mediterranean 
—  a  thing  that  is  certainly  rare  in  most  quarters  of 
the  globe.  The  evening  we  sailed  away  from  Gib 
raltar,  that  hard-featured  rock  was  swimming  in  a 
creamy  mist  so  rich,  so  soft,  so  enchantingly  vague 
and  dreamy,  that  even  the  Oracle,  that  serene,  that 
inspired,  that  overpowering  humbug,  scorned  the 
dinner-gong  and  tarried  to  worship ! 

He  said:  "Well,  that's  gorgis,  ain't  it!  They 
don't  have  none  of  them  things  in  our  parts,  do 
they?  I  consider  that  them  effects  is  on  account  of 
the  superior  refragability,  as  you  may  say,  of  the 

(130) 


The  Innocents  Abroad  131 

sun's  diramic  combination  with  the  lymphatic  forces 
of  the  perihelion  of  Jubiter.  What  should  you 
think?'1 

"Oh,  go  to  bed!"  Dan  said  that,  and  went 
away. 

"  Oh,  yes,  it's  all  very  well  to  say  go  to  bed  when 
a  man  makes  an  argument  which  another  man  can't 
answer.  Dan  don't  never  stand  any  chance  in  an 
argument  with  me.  And  he  knows  it,  too.  What 
should  you  say,  Jack?" 

**  Now,  doctor,  don't  you  come  bothering  around 
me  with  that  dictionary  bosh.  I  don't  do  you  any 
harm,  do  I?  Then  you  let  me  alone." 

**  He's  gone,  too.  Well,  them  fellows  have  all 
tackled  the  old  Oracle,  as  they  say,  but  the  old 
man's  most  too  many  for  'em.  Maybe  the  Poet 
Lariat  ain't  satisfied  with  them  deductions?" 

The  poet  replied  with  a  barbarous  rhyme,  and 
went  below. 

"  'Pears  that  he  can't  qualify,  neither.  Well,  I 
didn't  expect  nothing  out  of  him.  I  never  see  one 
of  them  poets  yet  that  knowed  anything.  He'll 
go  down,  now,  and  grind  out  about  four  reams  of 
the  awfullest  slash  about  that  old  rock,  and  give  it 
to  a  consul  or  a  pilot  or  a  nigger,  or  anybody  he 
comes  across-  first  which  he  can  impose  on.  Pity 
but  somebody'd  take  that  poor  old  lunatic  and  dig 
all  that  poetry  rubbage  out  of  him.  Why  can't  a 
man  put  his  intellect  onto  things  that's  some  value? 
Gibbons  and  Hippocratus  and  Sarcophagus,  and 


132  The  Innocents  Abroad 

all  them  old  ancient  philosophers,  was  down  on 
poets " 

"  Doctor,"  I  said,  "you  are  going  to  invent 
authorities  now,  and  I'll  leave  you,  too.  I  always 
enjoy  your  conversation,  notwithstanding  the  luxuri 
ance  of  your  syllables,  when  the  philosophy  you 
offer  rests  on  your  own  responsibility ;  but  when  you 
begin  to  soar  —  when  you  begin  to  support  it  with 
the  evidence  of  authorities  who  are  the  creations  of 
your  own  fancy,  I  lose  confidence." 

That  was  the  way  to  flatter  the  doctor.  He  con 
sidered  it  a  sort  of  acknowledgment  on  my  part  of  a 
fear  to  argue  with  him.  He  was  always  persecuting 
the  passengers  with  abstruse  propositions  framed  in 
language  that  no  man  could  understand,  and  they 
endured  the  exquisite  torture  a  minute  or  two  and 
then  abandoned  the  field.  A  triumph  like  this,  over 
half  a  dozen  antagonists,  was  sufficient  for  one  day; 
from  that  time  forward  he  would  patrol  the  decks 
beaming  blandly  upon  all  comers,  and  so  tranquilly, 
blissfully  happy! 

But  I  digress.  The  thunder  of  our  two  brave 
cannon  announced  the  Fourth  of  July,  at  daylight, 
to  all  who  were  awake.  But  many  of  us  got  cur 
information  at  a  later  hour,  from  the  almanac.  All 
the  flags  were  sent  aloft,  except  half  a  dozen  that 
were  needed  to  decorate  portions  of  the  ship  below, 
and  in  a  short  time  the  vessel  assumed  a  holiday  ap 
pearance.  During  the  morning,  meetings  were  held 
and  all  manner  of  committees  set  to  work  on  the 


The  Innocents  Abroad  133 

celebration  ceremonies.  In  the  afternoon  the  ship's 
company  assembled  aft,  on  deck,  under  the  awnings; 
the  flute,  the  asthmatic  melodeon,  and  the  consump 
tive  clarinet,  crippled  the  Star  Spangled  Banner,  the 
choir  chased  it  to  cover,  and  George  came  in  with  a 
peculiarly  lacerating  screech  on  the  final  note  and 
slaughtered  it.  Nobody  mourned. 

We  carried  put  the  corpse  on  three  cheers  (that 
joke  was  not  intentional  and  I  do  not  indorse  it),  and 
then  the  President,  throned  behind  a  cable-locker 
with  a  national  flag  spread  over  it,  announced  the 
"  Reader,"  who  rose  up  and  read  that  same  old 
Declaration  of  Independence  which  we  have  all 
listened  to  so  often  without  paying  any  attention  to 
what  it  said ;  and  after  that  the  President  piped  the 
Orator  of  the  Day  to  quarters  and  he  made  that 
same  old  speech  about  our  national  greatness  which 
we  so  religiously  believe  and  so  fervently  applaud. 
Now  came  the  choir  into  court  again,  with  the  com 
plaining  instruments,  and  assaulted  Hail  Columbia; 
and  when  victory  hung  wavering  in  the  scale,  George 
returned  with  his  dreadful  wild-goose  stop  turned  on, 
and  the  choir  won,  of  course.  A  minister  pro 
nounced  the  benediction,  and  the  patriotic  little 
gathering  disbanded.  The  Fourth  of  July  was  safe, 
as  far  as  the  Mediterranean  was  concerned. 

At  dinner  in  the  evening,  a  well-written  original 
poem  was  recited  with  spirit  by  one  of  the  ship's 
captains,  and  thirteen  regular  toasts  were  washed 
down  with  several  baskets  of  champagne.  The 


134  The  Innocents  Abroad 

speeches  were  bad  —  execrable,  almost  without  ex 
ception.  In  fact,  without  any  exception,  but  one. 
Captain  Duncan  made  a  good  speech ;  he  made  the 
only  good  speech  of  the  evening.  He  said : 

'*  LADIES  AND  GENTLEMEN:  —  May  we  all  live  to 
a  green  old  age,  and  be  prosperous  and  happy. 
Steward,  bring  up  another  basket  of  champagne." 

It  was  regarded  as  a  very  able  effort. 

The  festivities,  so  to  speak,  closed  with  another  of 
those  miraculous  balls  on  the  promenade  deck.  We 
were  not  used  to  dancing  on  an  even  keel,  though, 
and  it  was  only  a  questionable  success.  But  take  it 
altogether,  it  was  a  bright,  cheerful,  pleasant  Fourth. 

Toward  nightfall,  the  next  evening,  we  steamed 
into  the  great  artificial  harbor  of  this  noble  city  of 
Marseilles,  and  saw  the  dying  sunlight  gild  its 
clustering  spires  and  ramparts,  and  flood  its  leagues 
of  environing  verdure  with  a  mellow  radiance  that 
touched  with  an  added  charm  the  white  villas  that 
flecked  the  landscape  far  and  near.  [Copyright 
secured  according  to  law.] 

There  were  no  stages  out,  and  we  could  not  get 
on  the  pier  from  the  ship.  It  was  annoying.  We 
were  full  of  enthusiasm  —  we  wanted  to  see  France ! 
Just  at  nightfall  our  party  of  three  contracted  with  a 
waterman  for  the  privilege  of  using  his  boat  as  a 
bridge  —  its  stern  was  at  our  companion  ladder  and 
its  bow  touched  the  pier.  We  got  in  and  the  fellow 
backed  out  into  the  harbor.  I  told  him  in  French 
that  all  we  wanted  was  to  walk  over  his  thwarts  and 


The  Innocents  Abroad  135 

step  ashore,  and  asked  him  what  he  went  away  out 
there  for?  He  said  he  could  not  understand  me.  I 
repeated.  Still,  he  could  not  understand.  He  ap 
peared  to  be  very  ignorant  of  French.  The  doctor 
tried  him,  but  he  could  not  understand  the  doctor. 
I  asked  this  boatman  to  explain  his  conduct,  which 
he  did;  and  then  I  couldn't  understand  him.  Dan 
said: 

"  Oh,  go  to  the  pier,  you  old  fool  —  that's  where 
we  want  to  go  ! ' ' 

We  reasoned  calmly  with  Dan  that  it  was  useless 
to  speak  to  this  foreigner  in  English  —  that  he  had 
better  let  us  conduct  this  business  in  the  French 
language  and  not  let  the  stranger  see  how  unculti 
vated  he  was. 

"  Well,  go  on,  go  on,"  he  said,  **  don't  mind  me. 
I  don't  wish  to  interfere.  Only,  if  you  go  on  telling 
him  in  your  kind  of  French  he  never  will  find  out 
where  we  want  to  go  to.  That  is  what  I  think  about 
it." 

We  rebuked  him  severely  for  this  remark,  and  said 
we  never  knew  an  ignorant  person  yet  but  was 
prejudiced.  The  Frenchman  spoke  again,  and  the 
doctor  said : 

"  There,  now,  Dan,  he  says  he  is  going  to  allez  to 
the  douain.  Means  he  is  going  to  the  hotel.  Oh, 
certainly  —  we  don't  know  the  French  language." 

This  was  a  crusher,  as  Jack  would  say.  It 
silenced  further  criticism  from  the  disaffected  mem 
ber.  We  coasted  past  the  sharp  bows  of  a  navy  of 


136  The  Innocents  Abroad 

great  steamships,  and  stopped  at  last  at  a  govern 
ment  building  on  a  stone  pier.  It  was  easy  to  re 
member  then  that  the  douain  was  the  custom-house, 
and  not  the  hotel.  We  did  not  mention  it,  how 
ever.  With  winning  French  politeness,  the  officers 
merely  opened  and  closed  our  satchels,  declined  to 
examine  our  passports,  and  sent  us  on  our  way. 
We  stopped  at  the  first  cafe"  we  came  to,  and  en 
tered.  An  old  woman  seated  us  at  a  table  and 
waited  for  orders.  The  doctor  said : 

"  Avez-vous  du  vin?" 

The  dame  looked  perplexed.  The  doctor  said 
again,  with  elaborate  distinctness  of  articulation: 

4  *  Avez-vous  du  —  vin  ! ' ' 

The  dame  looked  more  perplexed  than  before.  I 
said : 

**  Doctor,  there  is  a  flaw  in  your  pronunciation 
somewhere.  Let  me  try  her.  Madame,  avez-vous 
du  vin?  It  isn't  any  use,  doctor  —  take  the  wit 
ness." 

"  Madame,  avez-vous  du  vin  —  ou  fromage  — 
pain  —  pickled  pigs'  feet  —  beurre  —  des  oefs  —  du 
beuf  —  horseradish,  sour-crout,  hog  and  hominy  — 
anything,  anything  in  the  world  that  can  stay  a 
Christian  stomach!" 

She  said : 

"  Bless  you,  why  didn't  you  speak  English  be 
fore? —  I  don't  know  anything  about  your  plagued 
French!" 

The  humiliating  taunts  of  the  disaffected  member 


The  Innocents  Abroad  137 

spoiled  the  supper,  and  we  dispatched  it  in  angry 
silence  and  got  away  as  soon  as  we  could.  Here 
we  were  in  beautiful  France  —  in  a  vast  stone  house 
of  quaint  architecture  —  surrounded  by  all  manner 
of  curiously  worded  French  signs  —  stared  at  by 
strangely-habited,  bearded  French  people  —  every 
thing  gradually  and  surely  forcing  upon  us  the  cov 
eted  consciousness  that  at  last,  and  beyond  all  ques 
tion,  we  were  in  beautiful  France  and  absorbing  its 
nature  to  the  forgetfulness  of  everything  else,  and 
coming  to  feel  the  happy  romance  of  the  thing  in 
all  its  enchanting  delightfulness  —  and  to  think  of 
this  skinny  veteran  intruding  with  her  vile  English, 
at  such  a  moment,  to  blow  the  fair  vision  to  the 
winds  !  It  was  exasperating. 

We  set  out  to  find  the  center  of  the  city,  in 
quiring  the  direction  every  now  and  then.  We 
never  did  succeed  in  making  anybody  understand 
just  exactly  what  we  wanted,  and  neither  did  we 
ever  succeed  in  comprehending  just  exactly  what 
they  said  in  reply  —  but  then  they  always  pointed  — 
they  always  did  that,  and  we  bowed  politely  and 
said  *'  Merci,  Monsieur,"  and  so  it  was  a  blighting 
triumph  over  the  disaffected  member,  anyway.  He 
was  restive  under  these  victories  and  often  asked : 

44  What  did  that  pirate  say?" 

"Why,  he  told  us  which  way  to  go,  to  find  the 
Grand  Casino." 

"  Yes,  but  what  did  he  say  ?" 

"Oh,  it  don't  matter  what  he  said  —  we  under- 


138  The  Innocents  Abroad 

stood  him.  These  are  educated  people  —  not  like 
that  absurd  boatman." 

**  Well,  I  wish  they  were  educated  enough  to  tell 
a  man  a  direction  that  goes  somewhere  —  for  we've 
been  going  around  in  a  circle  for  an  hour  —  I've 
passed  this  same  old  drug  store  seven  times." 

We  said  it  was  a  low,  disreputable  falsehood  (but 
we  knew  it  was  not) .  It  was  plain  that  it  would  not 
do  to  pass  that  drug  store  again,  though  —  we  might 
go  on  asking  directions,  but  we  must  cease  from 
following  finger  pointings  if  we  hoped  to  check  the 
suspicions  of  the  disaffected  member. 

A  long  walk  through  smooth,  asphaltum-paved 
streets,  bordered  by  blocks  of  vast  new  mercantile 
houses  of  cream-colored  stone,- — every  house  and 
every  block  precisely  like  all  the  other  houses  and 
all  the  other  blocks  for  a  mile,  and  all  brilliantly 
lighted, —  brought  us  at  last  to  the  principal 
thoroughfare.  On  every  hand  were  bright  colors, 
flashing  constellations  of  gas-burners,  gaily-dressed 
men  and  women  thronging  the  sidewalks  —  hurry, 
life,  activity,  cheerfulness,  conversation,  and  laughter 
everywhere !  We  found  the  Grand  Hotel  du  Louvre 
et  de  la  Paix,  and  wrote  down  who  we  were,  where 
we  were  born,  what  our  occupations  were,  the  place 
we  came  from  last,  whether  we  were  married  or 
single,  how  we  liked  it,  how  old  we  were,  where  we 
were  bound  for  and  when  we  expected  to  get  there, 
and  a  great  deal  of  information  of  similar  importance 
—  all  for  the  benefit  of  the  landlord  and  the  secret 


The  Innocents  Abroad  139 

police.  We  hired  a  guide  and  began  the  business  of 
sight-seeing  immediately.  That  first  night  on  French 
soil  was  a  stirring  one.  I  cannot  think  of  half  the 
places  we  went  to,  or  what  we  particularly  saw;  we 
had  no  disposition  to  examine  carefully  into  any 
thing  at  all  —  we  only  wanted  to  glance  and  go  —  to 
move,  keep  moving !  The  spirit  of  the  country  was 
upon  us.  We  sat  down,  finally,  at  a  late  hour,  in 
the  great  Casino,  and  called  for  unstinted  cham 
pagne.  It  is  so  easy  to  be  bloated  aristocrats  where 
it  costs  nothing  of  consequence  !  There  were  about 
five  hundred  people  in  that  dazzling  place,  I  sup 
pose,  though  the  walls  being  papered  entirely  with 
mirrors,  so  to  speak,  one  could  not  really  tell  but 
that  there  were  a  hundred  thousand.  Young, 
daintily-dressed  exquisites  and  young,  stylishly- 
dressed  women,  and  also  old  gentlemen  and  old 
ladies,  sat  in  couples  and  groups  about  innumerable 
marble-topped  tables,  and  ate  fancy  suppers,  drank 
wine,  and  kept  up  a  chattering  din  of  conversation 
that  was  dazing  to  the  senses.  There  was  a  stage  at 
the  far  end,  and  a  large  orchestra;  and  every  now 
and  then  actors  and  actresses  in  preposterous  comic 
dresses  came  out  and  sang  the  most  extravagantly 
funny  songs,  to  judge  by  their  absurd  actions;  but 
that  audience  merely  suspended  its  chatter,  stared 
cynically,  and  never  once  smiled,  never  once  ap 
plauded !  I  had  always  thought  that  Frenchmen 
were  ready  to  laugh  at  anything. 


CHAPTER   XL 

IV  AE  are  getting  foreignized  rapidly,  and  with 
VY  facility.  We  are  getting  reconciled  to  halls 
and  bed-chambers  with  unhomelike  stone  floors,  and 
no  carpets  —  floors  that  ring  to  the  tread  of  one's 
heels  with  a  sharpness  that  is  death  to  sentimental 
musing.  We  are  getting  used  to  tidy,  noiseless 
waiters,  who  glide  hither  and  thither,  and  hover 
about  your  back  and  your  elbows  like  butterflies, 
quick  to  comprehend  orders,  quick  to  fill  them; 
thankful  for  a  gratuity  without  regard  to  the  amount; 
and  always  polite  —  never  otherwise  than  polite. 
That  is  the  strangest  curiosity  yet  —  a  really  polite 
hotel  waiter  who  isn't  an  idiot.  We  are  getting 
used  to  driving  right  into  the  central  court  of  the 
hotel,  in  the  midst  of  a  fragrant  circle  of  vines  and 
flowers,  and  in  the  midst,  also,  of  parties  of  gentle 
men  sitting  quietly  reading  the  paper  and  smoking. 
We  are  getting  used  to  ice  frozen  by  artificial  process 
in  ordinary  bottles  —  the  only  kind  of  ice  they  have 
here.  We  are  getting  used  to  all  these  things;  but 
we  are  not  getting  used  to  carrying  our  own  soap. 
We  are  sufficiently  civilized  to  carry  our  own  combs 

(140) 


The  Innocents  Abroad  141 

and  tooth-brushes ;  but  this  thing  of  having  to  ring 
for  soap  every  time  we  wash  is  new  to  us,  and  not 
pleasant  at  all.  We  think  of  it  just  after  we  get  our 
heads  and  faces  thoroughly  wet,  or  just  when  we 
think  we  have  been  in  the  bath-tub  long  enough, 
and  then,  of  course,  an  annoying  delay  follows. 
These  Marseillaise  make  Marseillaise  hymns,  and 
Marseilles  vests,  and  Marseilles  soap  for  all  the 
world ;  but  they  never  sing  their  hymns,  or  wear 
their  vests,  or  wash  with  their  soap  themselves. 

We  have  learned  to  go  through  the  lingering 
routine  of  the  table  d'hote  with  patience,  with 
serenity,  with  satisfaction.  We  take  soup;  then 
wait  a  few  minutes  for  the  fish ;  a  few  minutes  more 
and  the  plates  are  changed,  and  the  roast  beef 
comes ;  another  change  and  we  take  peas ;  change 
again  and  take  lentils;  change  and  take  snail  patties 
(I  prefer  grasshoppers) ;  change  and  take  roast 
chicken  and  salad;  then  strawberry  pie  and  ice 
cream;  then  green  figs,  pears,  oranges,  green 
almonds,  etc.,  finally  coffee.  Wine  with  every 
course,  of  course,  being  in  France.  With  such  a 
cargo  on  board,  digestion  is  a  slow  process,  and  we 
must  sit  long  in  the  cool  chambers  and  smoke  —  and' 
read  French  newspapers,  which  have  a  strange 
fashion  of  telling  a  perfectly  straight  story  till  you 
get  to  the  "  nub  "  of  it,  and  then  a  word  drops  in 
that  no  man  can  translate,  and  that  story  is  ruined. 
An  embankment  fell  on  some  Frenchmen  yesterday, 
and  the  papers  are  full  of  it  to-day  —  but  whether 


142  The  Innocents  Abroad 

those  sufferers  were  killed,  or  crippled,  or  bruised, 
or  only  scared,  is  more  than  I  can  possibly  make 
out,  and  yet  I  would  just  give  anything  to  know. 

We  were  troubled  a  little  at  dinner  to-day,  by  the 
conduct  of  an  American,  who  talked  very  loudly 
and  coarsely,  and  laughed  boisterously  where  all 
others  were  so  quiet  and  well-behaved.  He  ordered 
wine  with  a  royal  flourish,  and  said:  "  I  never  dine 
without  wine,  sir"  (which  was  a  pitiful  falsehood), 
and  looked  around  upon  the  company  to  bask  in 
the  admiration  he  expected  to  find  in  their  faces. 
All  these  airs  in  a  land  where  they  would  as  soon 
expect  to  leave  the  soup  out  of  the  bill  of  fare  as 
the  wine  !  —  in  a  land  where  wine  is  nearly  as  com 
mon  among  all  ranks  as  water !  This  fellow  said : 
**  I  am  a  free-born  sovereign,  sir,  an  American,  sir, 
and  I  want  everybody  to  know  it!"  He  did  not 
mention  that  he  was  a  lineal  descendant  of  Balaam's 
ass ;  but  everybody  knew  that  without  his  telling  it. 

We  have  driven  in  the  Prado  —  that  superb  avenue 
bordered  with  patrician  mansions  and  noble  shade 
trees  —  and  have  visited  the  Chateau  Bore"ly  and  its 
curious  museum.  They  showed  us  a  miniature 
cemetery  there  —  a  copy  of  the  first  graveyard  that 
was  ever  in  Marseilles,  no  doubt.  The  delicate  little 
skeletons  were  lying  in  broken  vaults,  and  had  their 
household  gods  and  kitchen  utensils  with  them. 
The  original  of  this  cemetery  was  dug  up  in  the 
principal  street  of  the  city  a  few  years  ago.  It  had 
remained  there,  only  twelve  feet  under  ground,  for 


The  Innocents  Abroad  143 

a  matter  of  twenty-five  hundred  years,  or  there 
abouts.  Romulus  was  here  before  he  built  Rome, 
and  thought  something  of  founding  a  city  on  this 
spot,  but  gave  up  the  idea.  He  may  have  been 
personally  acquainted  with  some  of  these  Phoenicians 
whose  skeletons  we  have  been  examining 

In  the  great  Zoological  Gardens  we  found  speci 
mens  of  all  the  animals  the  world  produces,  I  think, 
including  a  dromedary,  a  monkey  ornamented  with 
tufts  of  brilliant  blue  and  carmine  hair  —  a  very 
gorgeous  monkey  he  was  —  a  hippopotamus  from 
the  Nile,  and  a  sort  of  tall,  long-legged  bird  with  a 
beak  like  a  powder-horn,  and  close-fitting  wings  like 
the  tails  of  a  dress-coat.  This  fellow  stood  up  with 
his  eyes  shut  and  his  shoulders  stooped  forward  a 
little,  and  looked  as  if  he  had  his  hands  under  his 
coat-tails.  Such  tranquil  stupidity,  such  supernatural 
gravity,  such  self-righteousness,  and  such  ineffable 
self-complacency  as  were  in  the  countenance  and 
attitude  of  that  gray-bodied,  dark-winged,  bald- 
headed,  and  preposterously  uncomely  bird !  He 
was  so  ungainly,  so  pimply  about  the  head,  so  scaly 
about  the  legs;  yet  so  serene,  so  unspeakably  satis 
fied  !  He  was  the  most  comical-looking  creature 
that  can  be  imagined.  It  was  good  to  hear  Dan  and 
the  doctor  laugh  —  such  natural  and  such  enjoyable 
laughter  had  not  been  heard  among  our  excursionists 
since  our  ship  sailed  away  from  America.  This  bird 
was  a  godsend  to  us,  and  I  should  be  an  ingrate  if 
I  forgot  to  make  honorable  mention  of  him  in  these 


144  The  Innocents  Abroad 

pages.  Ours  was  a  pleasure  excursion;  therefore 
we  stayed  with  that  bird  an  hour,  and  made  the 
most  of  him.  We  stirred  him  up  occasionally,  but 
he  only  unclosed  an  eye  and  slowly  closed  it  again, 
abating  no  jot  of  his  stately  piety  of  demeanor  or 
his  tremendous  seriousness.  He  only  seemed  to 
say,  "  Defile  not  Heaven's  anointed  with  unsanctified 
hands."  We  did  not  know  his  name,  and  so  we 
called  him  "The  Pilgrim."  Dan  said: 

"  All  he  wants  now  is  a  Plymouth  Collection." 
The  boon  companion  of  the  colossal  elephant  was 
A  common  cat !  This  cat  had  a  fashion  of  climbing 
ttp  the  elephant's  hind  legs,  and  roosting  on  his 
back.  She  would  sit  up  there,  with  her  paws  curved 
under  her  breast,  and  sleep  in  the  sun  half  the  after 
noon.  It  used  to  annoy  the  elephant  at  first,  and 
he  would  reach  up  and  take  her  down,  but  she 
would  go  aft  and  climb  up  again.  She  persisted 
until  she  finally  conquered  the  elephant's  prejudices, 
and  now  they  are  inseparable  friends.  The  cat 
plays  about  her  comrade's  forefeet  or  his  trunk 
often,  until  dogs  approach,  and  then  she  goes  aloft 
out  of  danger.  The  elephant  has  annihilated  several 
dogs  lately,  that  pressed  his  companion  too  closely. 
We  hired  a  sailboat  and  a  guide  and  made  an 
excursion  to  one  of  the  small  islands  in  the  harbor 
to  visit  the  Castle  d'If.  This  ancient  fortress  has  a 
melancholy  history.  It  has  been  used  as  a  prison 
for  political  offenders  for  two  or  three  hundred 
years,  and  its  dungeon  walls  are  scarred  with  the 


The  Innocents  Abroad  145 

rudely-carved  names  of  many  and  many  a  captive 
who  fretted  his  life  away  here,  and  left  no  record  of 
himself  but  these  sad  epitaphs  wrought  with  his  own 
hands.  How  thick  the  names  were!  And  their 
long-departed  owners  seemed  to  throng  the  gloomy 
cells  and  corridors  with  their  phantom  shapes.  We 
loitered  through  dungeon  after  dungeon,  away  down 
into  the  living  rock  below  the  level  of  the  sea,  it 
seemed.  Names  everywhere !  —  some  plebeian,  some 
noble,  some  even  princely.  Plebeian,  prince,  and 
noble,  had  one  solicitude  in  common  —  they  would 
not  be  forgotten  !  They  could  suffer  solitude,  inac 
tivity,  and  the  horrors  of  a  silence  that  no  sound 
ever  disturbed ;  but  they  could  not  bear  the  thought 
of  being  utterly  forgotten  by  the  world.  Hence 
the  carved  names.  In  one  cell,  where  a  little  light 
penetrated,  a  man  had  lived  twenty-seven  years 
without  seeing  the  face  of  a  human  being  —  lived  in 
filth  and  wretchedness,  with  no  companionship  but 
his  own  thoughts,  and  they  were  sorrowful  enough, 
and  hopeless  enough,  no  doubt.  Whatever  his 
jailers  considered  that  he  needed  was  conveyed  to 
his  cell  by  night,  through  a  wicket.  This  man 
carved  the  walls  of  his  prison-house  from  floor  to 
roof  with  all  manner  of  figures  of  men  and  animals, 
grouped  in  intricate  designs.  He  had  toiled  there 
year  after  year,  at  his  self-appointed  task,  while  in 
fants  grew  to  boyhood  —  to  vigorous  youth  —  idled 
through  school  and  college  —  acquired  a  profession 
—  claimed  man's  mature  estate  —  married  and 


146  The  Innocents  Abroad 

looked  back  to  infancy  as  to  a  thing  of  some  vague, 
ancient  time,  almost.  But  who  shall  tell  how  many 
ages  it  seemed  to  this  prisoner?  With  the  one,  time 
flew  sometimes ;  with  the  other,  never  —  it  crawled 
always.  To  the  one,  nights  spent  in  dancing  had 
seemed  made  of  minutes  instead  of  hours;  to  the 
other,  those  self-same  nights  had  been  like  all  othei 
nights  of  dungeon  life,  and  seemed  made  of  slow, 
dragging  weeks,  instead  of  hours  and  minutes. 

One  prisoner  of  fifteen  years  had  scratched  verses 
upon  his  walls,  and  brief  prose  sentences  —  brief, 
but  full  of  pathos.  These  spoke  not  of  himself  and 
his  hard  estate ;  but  only  of  the  shrine  where  his 
spirit  fled  the  prison  to  worship  —  of  home  and  the 
idols  that  were  templed  there.  He  never  lived  to 
see  them. 

The  walls  of  these  dungeons  are  as  thick  as  some 
bed-chambers  at  home  are  wide  —  fifteen  feet.  We 
saw  the  damp,  dismal  cells  in  which  two  of  Dumas' 
heroes  passed  their  confinement  —  heroes  of  '*  Monte 
Cristo."  It  was  here  that  the  brave  Abb£  wrote  a 
book  with  his  own  blood ;  with  a  pen  made  of  a 
piece  of  iron  hoop,  and  by  the  light  of  a  lamp  made 
out  of  shreds  of  cloth  soaked  in  grease  obtained 
from  his  food ;  and  then  dug  through  the  thick  wall 
with  some  trifling  instrument  which  he  wrought 
himself  out  of  a  stray  piece  of  iron  or  table  cutlery, 
and  freed  Dante's  from  his  chains.  It  was  a  pity 
that  so  many  weeks  of  dreary  labor  should  have 
come  to  naught  at  last. 


The  Innocents  Abroad  147 

They  showed  us  the  noisome  cell  where  the  cele 
brated  "  Iron  Mask" — that  ill-starred  brother  of  a 
hard-hearted  king  of  France  —  was  confined  for  a 
season,  before  he  was  sent  to  hide  the  strange  mys 
tery  of  his  life  from  the  curious  in  the  dungeons  of 
St.  Marguerite.  The  place  had  a  far  greater  interest 
for  us  than  it  could  have  had  if  we  had  known  be 
yond  all  question  who  the  Iron  Mask  was,  and  what 
his  history  had  been,  and  why  this  most  unusual 
punishment  had  been  meted  out  to  him  Mystery! 
That  was  the  charm.  That  speechless  tongue,  those 
prisoned  features,  that  heart  so  freighted  with  un 
spoken  troubles,  and  that  breast  so  oppressed  with 
its  piteous  secret,  had  been  here.  These  dank 
walls  had  known  the  man  whose  dolorous  story  is  a 
sealed  book  forever !  There  was  fascination  in  the 
spot. 


CHAPTER   XII. 

\  V /E  have  come  five  hundred  miles  by  rail  through 
VV  the  heart  of  France.  What  a  bewitching  land 
it  is !  What  a  garden  !  Surely  the  leagues  of  bright 
green  lawns  are  swept  and  brushed  and  watered 
•every  day  and  their  grasses  trimmed  by  the  barber. 
Surely  the  hedges  are  shaped  and  measured  and 
their  symmetry  preserved  by  the  most  architectural 
of  gardeners.  Surely  the  long,  straight  rows  of 
stately  poplars  that  divide  the  beautiful  landscape 
like  the  squares  of  a  checker-board  are  set  with  line 
and  plummet,  and  their  uniform  height  determined 
with  a  spirit  level.  Surely  the  straight,  smooth, 
pure  white  turnpikes  are  jack-planed  and  sand 
papered  every  day.  How  else  are  these  marvels  of 
symmetry,  cleanliness,  and  order  attained?  It  is 
wonderful.  There  are  no  unsightly  stone  walls,  and 
never  a  fence  of  any  kind.  There  is  no  dirt,  no 
decay,  no  rubbish  anywhere  —  nothing  that  even 
hints  at  untidiness  —  nothing  that  ever  suggests 
neglect.  All  is  orderly  and  beautiful  —  everything 
Is  charming  to  the  eye. 

We  had  such  glimpses  of  the  Rhone  gliding  along 


The  Innocents  Abroad  149 

between  its  grassy  banks ;  of  cosy  cottages  buried 
in  flowers  and  shrubbery;  of  quaint  old  red-tiled 
villages  with  mossy  mediaeval  cathedrals  looming 
out  of  their  midst ;  of  wooded  hills  with  ivy-grown 
towers  and  turrets  of  feudal  castles  projecting  above 
the  foliage;  such  glimpses  of  Paradise,  it  seemed  to 
us,  such  visions  of  fabled  fairy-land ! 

We  knew,  then,  what  the  poet  meant,  when  he 
sang  of  — 

"  —  thy  cornfields  green,  and  sunny  vines, 
O  pleasant  land  of  France  ! " 

And  it  tj  a  pleasant  land.  No  word  described  it 
so  felicitously  as  that  one.  They  say  there  is  no 
word  for  "home"  in  the  French  language.  Well, 
considering  that  they  have  the  article  itself  in  such 
an  attractive  aspect,  they  ought  to  manage  to  get 
along  without  the  word.  Let  us  not  waste  too  much 
pity  on  "  homeless  "  France.  I  have  observed  that 
Frenchmen  abroad  seldom  wholly  give  up  the  idea 
of  going  back  to  France  some  time  or  other.  I  am 
not  surprised  at  it  now. 

We  are  not  infatuated  with  these  French  railway 
cars,  though.  We  took  first-class  passage,  not  be 
cause  we  wished  to  attract  attention  by  doing  a  thing 
which  is  uncommon  in  Europe,  but  because  we 
could  make  our  journey  quicker  by  so  doing.  It  is 
hard  to  make  railroading  pleasant,  in  any  country. 
It  is  too  tedious.  Stage-coaching  is  infinitely  more 
delightful.  Once  I  crossed  the  plains  and  deserts 
and  mountains  of  the  West,  in  a  stage-coach,  from 


150  The  Innocents  Abroad 

the  Missouri  line  to  California,  and  since  then  all 
my  pleasure-trips  must  be  measured  to  that  rare 
holiday  frolic.  Two  thousand  miles  of  ceaseless 
rush  and  rattle  and  clatter,  by  night  and  by  day,  and 
never  a  weary  moment,  never  a  lapse  of  interest ! 
The  first  seven  hundred  miles  a  level  continent,  its 
grassy  carpet  greener  and  softer  and  smoother  than 
any  sea,  and  figured  with  designs  fitted  to  its  magni 
tude —  the  shadows  of  the  clouds.  Here  were  no 
scenes  but  summer  scenes,  and  no  disposition  in 
spired  by  them  but  to  lie  at  full  length  on  the  mail 
sacks,  in  the  grateful  breeze,  and  dreamily  smoke  the 
pipe  of  peace  —  what  other,  where  all  was  repose 
and  contentment?  In  cool  mornings,  before  the 
sun  was  fairly  up,  it  was  worth  a  lifetime  of  city 
toiling  and  moiling,  to  perch  in  the  foretop  with  the 
driver  and  see  the  six  mustangs  scamper  under  the 
sharp  snapping  of  a  whip  that  never  touched  them ; 
to  scan  the  blue  distances  of  a  world  that  knew  no 
lords  but  us ;  to  cleave  the  wind  with  uncovered  head 
and  feel  the  sluggish  pulses  rousing  to  the  spirit  of  a 
speed  that  pretended  to  the  resistless  rush  of  a 
typhoon !  Then  thirteen  hundred  miles  of  desert 
solitudes ;  of  limitless  panoramas  of  bewildering 
perspective;  of  mimic  cities,  of  pinnacled  cathe 
drals,  of  massive  fortresses,  counterfeited  in  the 
eternal  rocks  and  splendid  with  the  crimson  and 
gold  of  the  setting  sun ;  of  dizzy  altitudes  among 
fog-wreathed  peaks  and  never-melting  snows,  where 
thunders  and  lightnings  and  tempests  warred  mag- 


The  Innocents  Abroad  151 

nificently  at  our  feet  and  the  storm-clouds  above 
swung  their  shredded  banners  in  our  very  faces ! 

But  I  forgot.  I  am  in  elegant  France,  now,  and 
not  skurrying  through  the  great  South  Pass  and  the 
Wind  River  Mountains,  among  antelopes  and  buffa 
loes,  and  painted  Indians  on  the  warpath.  It  is 
not  meet  that  I  should  make  too  disparaging  com 
parisons  between  humdrum  travel  on  a  railway  and 
that  royal  summer  flight  across  a  continent  in  a 
stage-coach.  I  meant,  in  the  beginning,  to  say  that 
railway  journeying  is  tedious  and  tiresome,  and  so  it 
is  —  though,  at  the  time,  I  was  thinking  particularly 
of  a  dismal  fifty-hour  pilgrimage  between  New  York 
and  St.  Louis.  Of  course  our  trip  through  France 
was  not  really  tedious,  because  all  its  scenes  and 
experiences  were  new  and  strange ;  but  as  Dan  says, 
it  had  its  "  discrepancies." 

The  cars  are  built  in  compartments  that  hold  eight 
persons  each.  Each  compartment  is  partially  sub 
divided,  and  so  there  are  two  tolerably  distinct 
parties  of  four  in  it.  Four  face  the  other  four. 
The  seats  and  backs  are  thickly  padded  and  cush 
ioned,  and  are  very  comfortable;  you  can  smoke,  if 
you  wish;  there  are  no  bothersome  peddlers;  you 
are  saved  the  infliction  of  a  multitude  of  disagree 
able  fellow-passengers.  So  far,  so  well.  But  then 
the  conductor  locks  you  in  when  the  train  starts ; 
there  is  no  water  to  drink  in  the  car;  there  is  no 
heating  apparatus  for  night  travel;  if  a  drunken 
rowdy  should  get  in,  you  could  not  remove  a  matter 


152  The  Innocents  Abroad 

of  twenty  seats  from  him,  or  enter  another  car;  but, 
above  all,  if  you  are  worn  out  and  must  sleep,  you 
must  sit  up  and  do  it  in  naps,  with  cramped  legs  and 
in  a  torturing  misery  that  leaves  you  withered  and 
lifeless  the  next  day  —  for  behold,  they  have  not 
that  culmination  of  all  charity  and  human  kindness, 
a  sleeping  car,  in  all  France.  I  prefer  the  American 
system.  It  has  not  so  many  grievous  "  discrepan 
cies.  " 

In  France,  all  is  clockwork,  all  is  order.  They 
make  no  mistakes.  Every  third  man  wears  a  uni 
form,  and  whether  he  be  a  marshal  of  the  empire  or 
a  brakeman,  he  is  ready  and  perfectly  willing  to 
answer  all  your  questions  with  tireless  politeness, 
ready  to  tell  you  which  car  to  take,  yea,  and  ready 
to  go  and  put  you  into  it  to  make  sure  that  you  shall 
not  go  astray.  You  cannot  pass  into  the  waiting- 
room  of  the  depot  till  you  have  secured  your  ticket, 
and  you  cannot  pass  from  its  only  exit  till  the  train 
is  at  its  threshold  to  receive  you.  Once  on  board, 
the  train  will  not  start  till  your  ticket  has  been  ex 
amined —  till  every  passenger's  ticket  has  been  in 
spected.  This  is  chiefly  for  your  own  good.  If 
by  any  possibility  you  have  managed  to  take  the 
wrong  train,  you  will  be  handed  over  to  a  polite 
official  who  will  take  you  whither  you  belong,  and 
bestow  you  with  many  an  affable  bow.  Your  ticket 
will  be  inspected  every  now  and  then  along  the 
route,  and  when  it  is  time  to  change  cars  you  will 
know  it.  You  are  in  the  hands  of  officials  who 


The  Innocents  Abroad  153 

zealously  study  your  welfare  and  your  interest,  in 
stead  of  turning  their  talents  to  the  invention  of  new 
methods  of  discommoding  and  snubbing  you,  as  is 
very  often  the  main  employment  of  that  exceedingly 
self-satisfied  monarch,  the  railroad  conductor  of 
America. 

But  the  happiest  regulation  in  French  railway 
government,  is  —  thirty  minutes  to  dinner!  No  five- 
minute  boltings  of  flabby  rolls,  muddy  coffee,  ques 
tionable  eggs,  gutta-percha  beef,  and  pies  whose 
conception  and  execution  are  a  dark  and  bloody 
mystery  to  all  save  the  cook  who  created  them ! 
No;  we  sat  calmly  down  —  it  was  in  old  Dijon, 
which  is  so  easy  to  spell  and  so  impossible  to  pro 
nounce,  except  when  you  civilize  it  and  call  it 
Demijohn  —  and  poured  out  rich  Burgundian  wines 
and  munched  calmly  through  a  long  table  d'hote 
bill  of  fare,  snail  patties,  delicious  fruits  and  all,  then 
paid  the  trifle  it  cost  and  stepped  happily  aboard  the 
train  again,  without  once  cursing  the  railroad  com 
pany.  A  rare  experience,  and  one  to  be  treasured 
forever. 

They  say  they  do  not  have  accidents  on  these 
French  roads,  and  I  think  it  must  be  true.  If  I 
remember  rightly,  we  passed  high  above  wagon 
roads,  or  through  tunnels  under  them,  but  never 
crossed  them  on  their  own  level.  About  every 
quarter  of  a  mile,  it  seemed  to  me,  a  man  came  out 
and  held  up  a  club  till  the  train  went  by,  to  signify 
that  everything  was  safe  ahead.  Switches  were 


154  The  Innocents  Abroad 

changed  a  mile  in  advance,  by  pulling  a  wire  rope 
that  passed  along  the  ground  by  the  rail,  from 
station  to  station.  Signals  for  the  day  and  signals 
for  the  night  gave  constant  and  timely  notice  of  the 
position  of  switches. 

No,  they  have  no  railroad  accidents  to  speak  of  in 
France.  But  why?  Because  when  one  occurs, 
somebody  has  to  hang  for  it!*  Not  hang,  maybe, 
but  be  punished  at  least  with  such  vigor  of  emphasis 
as  to  make  negligence  a  thing  to  be  shuddered  at  by 
railroad  officials  for  many  a  day  thereafter.  "  No 
blame  attached  to  the  officers" — that  lying  and 
disaster-breeding  verdict  so  common  to  our  soft 
hearted  juries,  is  seldom  rendered  in  France.  If  the 
trouble  occurred  in  the  conductor's  department,  that 
officer  must  suffer  if  his  subordinate  cannot  be 
proven  guilty;  if  in  the  engineer's  department,  and 
the  case  be  similar,  the  engineer  must  answer. 

The  Old  Travelers  —  those  delightful  parrots  who 
have  "  been  here  before,"  and  know  more  about 
the  country  than  Louis  Napoleon  knows  now  or 
ever  will  know, —  tell  us  these  things,  and  we  believe 
them  because  they  are  pleasant  things  to  believe, 
and  because  they  are  plausible  and  savor  of  the  rigid 
subjection  to  law  and  order  which  we  behold  about 
us  everywhere. 

But  we  love  the  Old  Travelers.  We  love  to  hear 
them  prate  and  drivel  and  lie.  We  can  tell  them 

*  They  go  on  the  principle  that  it  is  better  that  one  innocent  man 
Bhould  suffer  than  five  hundred. 


The  Innocents  Abroad  155 

the  moment  we  see  them.  They  always  throw  out 
a  few  feelers :  they  never  cast  themselves  adrift  till 
they  have  sounded  every  individual  and  know  that 
he  has  not  traveled.  Then  they  open  their  throttle- 
valves,  and  how  they  do  brag,  and  sneer,  and  swell, 
and  soar,  and  blaspheme  the  sacred  name  of  Truth ! 
Their  central  idea,  their  grand  aim,  is  to  subjugate 
you,  keep  you  down,  make  you  feel  insignificant 
and  humble  in  the  blaze  of  their  cosmopolitan  glory ! 
They  will  not  let  you  know  anything.  They  sneer 
at  your  most  inoffensive  suggestions;  they  laugh 
unfeelingly  at  your  treasured  dreams  of  foreign 
lands;  they  brand  the  statements  of  your  traveled 
aunts  and  uncles  as  the  stupidest  absurdities ;  they 
deride  your  most  trusted  authors  and  demolish  the 
fair  images  they  have  set  up  for  your  willing  worship 
with  the  pitiless  ferocity  of  the  fanatic  iconoclast ! 
But  still  I  love  the  Old  Travelers.  I  love  them  for 
their  witless  platitudes ;  for  their  supernatural  ability 
to  bore ;  for  their  delightful  asinine  vanity ;  for  their 
luxuriant  fertility  of  imagination ;  for  their  startling, 
their  brilliant,  their  overwhelming  mendacity ! 

By  Lyons  and  the  Saone  (where  we  saw  the  Lady 
of  Lyons  and  thought  little  of  her  comeliness)  ;  by 
Villa  Franca,  Tonnerre,  venerable  Sens,  Melun,  Fon* 
tainebleau,  and  scores  of  other  beautiful  cities,  we 
swept,  always  noting  the  absence  of  hog-wallows, 
broken  fences,  cowlots,  unpainted  houses,  and  mud, 
and  always  noting,  as  well,  the  presence  of  cleanliness, 
grace,  taste  in  adorning  and  beautifying,  even  to  the 


156  The  Innocents  Abroad 

disposition  of  a  tree  or  the  turning  of  a  hedge,  the 
marvel  of  roads  in  perfect  repair,  void  of  ruts  and 
guiltless  of  even  an  inequality  of  surface  —  we 
bowled  along,  hour  after  hour,  that  brilliant  summer 
day,  and  as  nightfall  approached  we  entered  a 
wilderness  of  odorous  flowers  and  shrubbery,  sped 
through  it,  and  then,  excited,  delighted,  and  half 
persuaded  that  we  were  only  the  sport  of  a  beautiful 
dream,  lo,  we  stood  in  magnificent  Paris! 

What  excellent  order  they  kept  about  that  vast 
depot !  There  was  no  frantic  crowding  and  jostling, 
no  shouting  and  swearing,  and  no  swaggering  in 
trusion  of  services  by  rowdy  hackmen.  These  latter 
gentry  stood  outside  —  stood  quietly  by  their  long 
line  of  vehicles  and  said  never  a  word.  A  kind  of 
hackman-general  seemed  to  have  the  whole  matter 
of  transportation  in  his  hands.  He  politely  received 
the  passengers  and  ushered  them  to  the  kind  of 
conveyance  they  wanted,  and  told  the  driver  where 
to  deliver  them.  There  was  no  **  talking  back,"  no 
dissatisfaction  about  overcharging,  no  grumbling 
about  anything.  In  a  little  while  we  were  speeding 
through  the  streets  of  Paris,  and  delightfully  recog 
nizing  certain  names  and  places  with  which  books 
had  long  ago  made  us  familiar.  It  was  like  meeting 
an  old  friend  when  we  read  "  Rue  de  Rivoli ' '  on  the 
street  corner ;  we  knew  the  genuine  vast  palace  of 
the  Louvre  as  well  as  we  knew  its  picture ;  when  we 
passed  by  the  Column  of  July  we  needed  no  one  to 
tell  us  what  it  was,  or  to  remind  us  that  on  its  site 


The  Innocents  Abroad  157 

once  stood  the  grim  Bastile,  that  grave  of  human 
hopes  and  happiness,  that  dismal  prison-house 
within  whose  dungeons  so  many  young  faces  put  on 
the  wrinkles  of  age,  so  many  proud  spirits  grew 
humble,  so  many  brave  hearts  broke. 

We  secured  rooms  at  the  hotel,  or  rather,  we  had 
three  beds  put  into  one  room,  so  that  we  might  be 
together,  and  then  we  went  out  to  a  restaurant,  just 
after  lamp-lighting,  and  ate  a  comfortable,  satis 
factory,  lingering  dinner.  It  was  a  pleasure  to  eat 
where  everything  was  so  tidy,  the  food  so  well 
cooked,  the  waiters  so  polite,  and  the  coming  and 
departing  company  so  moustached,  so  frisky,  so 
affable,  so  fearfully  and  wonderfully  Frenchy !  All 
the  surroundings  were  gay  and  enlivening.  Two 
hundred  people  sat  at  little  tables  on  the  sidewalk, 
sipping  wine  and  coffee;  the  streets  were  thronged 
with  light  vehicles  and  with  joyous  pleasure-seekers ; 
there  was  music  in  the  air,  life  and  action  all  about 
us,  and  a  conflagration  of  gaslight  everywhere ! 

After  dinner  we  felt  like  seeing  such  Parisian 
specialties  as  we  might  see  without  distressing  exer 
tion,  and  so  we  sauntered  through  the  brilliant  streets 
and  looked  at  the  dainty  trifles  in  variety  stores  and 
jewelry  shops.  Occasionally,  merely  for  the  pleasure 
of  being  cruel,  we  put  unoffending  Frenchmen  on 
the  rack  with  questions  framed  in  the  incomprehen 
sible  jargon  of  their  native  language,  and  while  they 
writhed,  we  impaled  them,  we  peppered  them,  we 
scarified  them, with  their  own  vile  verbs  and  participles. 


158  The  Innocents  Abroad 

We  noticed  that  in  the  jewelry  stores  they  had 
some  of  the  articles  marked  "gold,"  and  some 
labeled  *'  imitation."  We  wondered  at  this  extrava 
gance  of  honesty,  and  inquired  into  the  matter.  We 
were  informed  that  inasmuch  as  most  people  are  not 
able  to  tell  false  gold  from  the  genuine  article,  the 
government  compels  jewelers  to  have  their  gold  work 
assayed  and  stamped  officially  according  to  its  fine 
ness,  and  their  imitation  work  duly  labeled  with  the 
sign  of  its  falsity.  They  told  us  the  jewelers  would 
not  dare  to  violate  this  law,  and  that  whatever  a 
stranger  bought  in  one  of  their  stores  might  be  de 
pended  upon  as  being  strictly  what  it  was  repre 
sented  to  be.  Verily,  a  wonderful  land  is  France ! 

Then  we  hunted  for  a  barber-shop.  From  earliest 
infancy  it  had  been  a  cherished  ambition  of  mine  to 
be  shaved  some  day  in  a  palatial  barber-shop  of 
Paris.  I  wished  to  recline  at  full  length  in  a  cush 
ioned  invalid-chair,  with  pictures  about  me,  and 
sumptuous  furniture;  with  frescoed  walls  and  gilded 
arches  above  me,  and  vistas  of  Corinthian  columns 
stretching  far  before  me ;  with  perfumes  of  Araby 
to  intoxicate  my  senses,  and  the  slumbrous  drone  of 
distant  noises  to  soothe  me  to  sleep.  At  the  end  of 
an  hour  I  would  wake  up  regretfully  and  find  my 
face  as  smooth  and  as  soft  as  an  infant's.  Depart 
ing,  I  would  lift  my  hands  above  that  barber's  head 
and  say,  *'  Heaven  bless  you,  my  son!" 

So  we  searched  high  and  low,  for  a  matter  of  two 
hours,  but  never  a  barber-shop  could  we  see.  We 


The  Innocents  Abroad  159 

saw  only  wig-making  establishments,  with  shocks  of 
dead  and  repulsive  hair  bound  upon  the  heads  of 
painted  waxen  brigands  who  stared  out  from  glass 
boxes  upon  the  passer-by,  with  their  stony  eyes, 
and  scared  him  with  the  ghostly  white  of  their  coun 
tenances.  We  shunned  these  signs  for  a  time,  but 
finally  we  concluded  that  the  wig-makers  must  of 
necessity  be  the  barbers  as  well,  since  we  could 
find  no  single  legitimate  representative  of  the  frater 
nity.  We  entered  and  asked,  and  found  that  it 
was  even  so. 

I  said  I  wanted  to  be  shaved.  The  barber  in 
quired  where  my  room  was.  I  said,  never  mind 
where  my  room  was,  I  wanted  to  be  shaved  —  there, 
on  the  spot.  The  doctor  said  he  would  be  shaved 
also.  Then  there  was  an  excitement  among  those 
two  barbers !  There  was  a  wild  consultation,  and 
afterward  a  hurrying  to  and  fro  and  a  feverish  gather 
ing  up  of  razors  from  obscure  places  and  a  ransack 
ing  for  soap.  Next  they  took  us  into  a  little  mean, 
shabby  back  room ;  they  got  two  ordinary  sitting- 
room  chairs  and  placed  us  in  them,  with  our  coats 
on.  My  old,  old  dream  of  bliss  vanished  into  thin 
air! 

I  sat  bolt  upright,  silent,  sad,  and  solemn.  One 
of  the  wig-making  villains  lathered  my  fa~e  for  ten 
terrible  minutes  and  finished  by  plastering  a  mass  of 
suds  into  my  mouth.  I  expelled  the  nasty  stuff  with 
a  strong  English  expletive  and  said,  "  Foreigner, 
beware  I ' '  Then  this  outlaw  strapped  his  razor  on 


160  The  Innocents  Abroad 

his  boot,  hovered  over  me  ominously  for  six  fearful 
seconds,  and  then  swooped  down  upon  me  like  the 
genius  of  destruction.  The  first  rake  of  his  razor 
loosened  the  very  hide  from  my  face  and  lifted  me 
out  of  the  chair.  I  stormed  and  raved,  and  the 
other  boys  enjoyed  it.  Their  beards  are  not  strong 
and  thick.  Let  us  draw  the  curtain  over  this  harrow 
ing  scene.  Suffice  it  that  I  submitted,  and  went 
through  with  the  cruel  infliction  of  a  shave  by  a 
French  barber ;  tears  of  exquisite  agony  coursed  down 
my  cheeks,  now  and  then,  but  I  survived.  Then  the 
incipient  assassin  held  a  basin  of  water  under  my 
chin  and  slopped  its  contents  over  my  face,  and  into 
my  bosom,  and  down  the  back  of  my  neck,  with  a 
mean  pretense  of  washing  away  the  soap  and  blood. 
He  dried  my  features  with  a  towel,  and  was  going 
to  comb  my  hair;  but  I  asked  to  be  excused.  I 
said,  with  withering  irony,  that  it  was  sufficient  to 
be  skinned  —  I  declined  to  be  scalped. 

I  went  away  from  there  with  my  handkerchief 
about  my  face,  and  never,  never,  never  desired  to 
dream  of  palatial  Parisian  barber-shops  any  more. 
The  truth  is,  as  I  believe  I  have  since  found  out, 
that  they  have  no  barber-shops  worthy  of  the  name 
in  Paris  —  and  no  barbers,  either,  for  that  matter. 
The  impostor  who  does  duty  as  a  barber  brings  his 
pans  and  napkins  and  implements  of  torture  to  your 
residence  and  deliberately  skins  you  in  your  private 
apartments.  Ah,  I  have  suffered,  suffered,  suffered, 
here  in  Paris,  but  never  mind  —  the  time  is  coming 


The  Innocents  Abroad  161 

when  I  shall  have  a  dark  and  bloody  revenge.  Some 
day  a  Parisian  barber  will  come  to  my  room  to  skin 
me,  and  from  that  day  forth  that  barber  will  never 
be  heard  of  more. 

At  eleven  o'clock  we  alighted  upon  a  sign  which 
manifestly  referred  to  billiards.  Joy!  We  had 
played  billiards  in  the  Azores  with  balls  that  were 
not  round,  and  on  an  ancient  table  that  was  very 
little  smoother  than  a  brick  pavement —  one  of  those 
wretched  old  things  with  dead  cushions,  and  with 
patches  in  the  faded  cloth  and  invisible  obstructions 
that  made  the  balls  describe  the  most  astonishing 
and  unsuspected  angles,  and  perform  feats  in  the 
way  of  unlooked-for  and  almost  impossible 
*'  scratches,"  that  were  perfectly  bewildering  We 
had  played  at  Gibraltar  with  balls  the  size  of  a 
walnut,  on  a  table  like  a  public  square  —  and  in  both 
instances  we  achieved  far  more  aggravation  than 
amusement.  We  expected  to  fare  better  here,  but 
we  were  mistaken.  The  cushions  were  a  good  deal 
higher  than  the  balls,  and  as  the  balls  had  a  fashion 
of  always  stopping  under  the  cushions,  we  accom 
plished  very  little  in  the  way  of  caroms.  The  cush 
ions  were  hard  and  unelastic,  and  the  cues  were^so 
crooked  that  in  making  a  shot  you  had  to  allow  for 
the  curve  or  you  would  infallibly  put  the  "  English  " 
on  the  wrong  side  of  the  ball.  Dan  was  to  mark 
while  the  doctor  and  I  played.  At  the  end  of  an 
hour  neither  of  us  had  made  a  count,  and  so  Dan 
was  tired  of  keeping  tally  with  nothing  to  tally,  and 
11. 


162  The  Innocents  Abroad 

we  were  heated  and  angry  and  disgusted.  We  paid 
the  heavy  bill  —  about  six  cents  —  and  said  we 
would  call  around  some  time  when  we  had  a  week 
to  spend,  and  finish  the  game. 

We  adjourned  to  one  of  those  pretty  cafes  and 
took  supper  and  tested  the  wines  of  the  country,  as 
we  had  been  instructed  to  do,  and  found  them  harm 
less  and  unexciting.  They  might  have  been  ex 
citing,  however,  if  we  had  chosen  to  drink  a  suffi 
ciency  of  them. 

To  close  our  first  day  in  Paris  cheerfully  and 
pleasantly,  we  now  sought  our  grand  room  in  the 
Grand  Hotel  du  Louvre  and  climbed  into  our  sump 
tuous  bed,  to  read  and  smoke  —  but  alas! 

It  was  pitiful, 
In  a  whole  city-full, 
Gas  we  had  none. 

No  gas  to  read  by —  nothing  but  dismal  candles. 
It  was  a  shame.  We  tried  to  map  out  excursions 
for  the  morrow;  we  puzzled  over  French  "  Guides 
to  Paris"  ;  we  talked  disjointedly,  in  a  vain  endeavor 
to  make  head  or  tail  of  the  wild  chaos  of  the  day's 
sights  and  experiences;  we  subsided  to  indolent 
smoking;  we  gaped  and  yawned,  and  stretched  — 
then  feebly  wondered  if  we  were  really  and  truly  in 
renowned  Paris,  and  drifted  drowsily  away  into  that 
vast  mysterious  void  which  men  call  sleep. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

THE  next  morning  we  were  up  and  dressed  at  ten 
o'clock.  We  went  to  the  commissionaire  of 
the  hotel  —  I  don't  know  what  a  commissionaire  is, 
but  that  is  the  man  we  went  to  —  and  told  him  we 
wanted  a  guide.  He  said  the  great  International 
Exposition  had  drawn  such  multitudes  of  English 
men  and  Americans  to  Paris  that  it  would  be  next 
to  impossible  to  find  a  good  guide  unemployed.  He 
said  he  usually  kept  a  dozen  or  two  on  hand,  but  he 
only  had  three  now.  He  called  them.  One  looked 
so  like  a  very  pirate  that  we  let  him  go  at  once. 
The  next  one  spoke  with  a  simpering  precision  of 
pronunciation  that  was  irritating,  and  said : 

"If  ze  zhentlemans  will  to  me  make  ze  grande 
honneur  to  me  rattain  in  hees  serveece,  I  shall  show 
to  him  everysing  zat  is  magnifique  to  look  upon  in 
ze  beautiful  Parree.  I  speaky  ze  Angleesh  pair- 
f  aitemaw. ' ' 

He  would  have  done  well  to  have  stopped  there, 
because  he  had  that  much  by  heart  and  said  it  right 
off  without  making  a  mistake.  But  his  self-com 
placency  seduced  him  into  attempting  a  flight  into 


164  The  Innocents  Abroad 

regions  of  unexplored  English,  and  the  reckless 
experiment  was  his  ruin.  Within  ten  seconds  he 
was  so  tangled  up  in  a  maze  of  mutilated  verbs  and 
torn  and  bleeding  forms  of  speech  that  no  human 
ingenuity  could  ever  have  gotten  him  out  of  it  with 
credit.  It  was  plain  enough  that  he  could  not 
'*  speaky  "  the  English  quite  as  *'  pairfaitemaw  "  as 
he  had  pretended  he  could. 

The  third  man  captured  us.  He  was  plainly 
dressed,  but  he  had  a  noticeable  air  of  neatness 
about  him.  He  wore  a  high  silk  hat  which 
was  a  little  old,  but  had  been  carefully  brushed1.  He 
wore  second-hand  kid  gloves,  in  good  repair,  and 
carried  a  small  rattan  cane  with  a  curved  handle  —  a 
female  leg,  of  ivory.  He  stepped  as  gently  and  as 
daintily  as  a  cat  crossing  a  muddy  street;  and  oh,  he 
was  urbanity;  he  was  quiet,  unobtrusive  self-posses 
sion  ;  he  was  deference  itself !  He  spoke  softly  and 
guardedly ;  and  when  he  was  about  to  make  a  state 
ment  on  his  sole  responsibility,  or  offer  a  sugges 
tion,  he  weighed  it  by  drachms  and  scruples  first, 
with  the  crook  of  his  little  stick  placed  meditatively 
to  his  teeth.  His  opening  speech  was  perfect.  It 
was  perfect  in  construction,  in  phraseology,  in 
grammar,  in  emphasis,  in  pronunciation  —  every 
thing.  He  spoke  little  and  guardedly,  after  that. 
We  were  charmed.  We  were  more  than  charmed  — 
we  were  overjoyed.  We  hired  him  at  once.  We 
never  even  asked  him  his  price.  This  man  —  our 
lackey,  our  servant,  our  unquestioning  slave  though 


The  Innocents  Abroad  165 

he  was,  was  still  a  gentleman  —  we  could  see  that — < 
while  of  the  other  two  one  was  coarse  and  awkward, 
and  the  other  was  a  born  pirate.  We  asked  our 
man  Friday's  name.  He  drew  from  his  pocket- 
book  a  snowy  little  card,  and  passed  it  to  us  with  a 
profound  bow: 

A.  BlLLFINGER, 

Guide  to  Paris,  France,  Germany, 

Spain,  &c.,  &c., 
Grande  Hotel  du  Louvre. 

"  Billfinger!  Oh,  carry  me  home  to  die!" 
That  was  an  '*  aside"  from  Dan.  The  atrocious 
name  grated  harshly  on  my  ear,  too.  The  most  of 
us  can  learn  to  forgive,  and  even  to  like,  a  counte 
nance  that  strikes  us  unpleasantly  at  first,  but  few  of 
us,  I  fancy,  become  reconciled  to  a  jarring  name  so 
easily.  I  was  almost  sorry  we  had  hired  this  man, 
his  name  was  so  unbearable.  However,  no  matter. 
We  were  impatient  to  start.  Billfinger  stepped  to 
the  door  to  call  a  carriage,  and  then  the  doctor  said : 
"Well,  the  guide  goes  with  the  barber-shop,  with 
the  billiard  table,  with  the  gasless  room,  and  maybe 
with  many  another  pretty  romance  of  Paris.  I  ex 
pected  to  have  a  guide  named  Henri  de  Mont- 
morency,  or  Armand  de  la  Chartreuse,  or  something 
that  would  sound  grand  in  letters  to  the  villagers  at 
home ;  but  to  think  of  a  Frenchman  by  the  name  of 
Billfinger!  Oh!  this  is  absurd,  you  know.  This 
will  never  do.  We  can't  say  Billfinger;  it  is  nause- 


166  The  Innocents  Abroad 

ating.  Name  him  over  again ;  what  had  we  better 
call  him?  Alexis  du  Caulaincourt?" 

"  Alphonse  Henri  Gustave  de  Hauteville,"  I  sug 
gested. 

'*  Call  him  Ferguson,"  said  Dan. 

That  was  practical,  unromantic  good  sense. 
Without  debate,  we  expunged  Billfinger  as  Bill- 
finger,  and  called  him  Ferguson. 

The  carriage  —  an  open  barouche  —  was  ready. 
Ferguson  mounted  beside  the  driver,  and  we  whirled 
away  to  breakfast.  As  was  proper,  Mr.  Ferguson 
stood  by  to  transmit  our  orders  and  answer  ques 
tions.  By  and  by,  he  mentioned  casually  —  the 
artful  adventurer  —  that  he  would  go  and  get  his 
breakfast  as  soon  as  we  had  finished  ours.  He 
knew  we  could  not  get  along  without  him,  and  that 
we  would  not  want  to  loiter  about  and  wait  for  him. 
We  asked  him  to  sit  down  and  eat  with  us.  He 
begged,  with  many  a  bow,  to  be  excused.  It 
was  not  proper,  he  said ;  he  would  sit  at  another 
table.  We  ordered  him  peremptorily  to  sit  down 
with  us. 

Here  endeth  the  first  lesson.     It  was  a  mistake. 

As  long  as  we  had  the  fellow  after  that,  he  was 
always  hungry;  he  was  always  thirsty.  He  came 
early ;  he  stayed  late ;  he  could  not  pass  a  restaurant ; 
he  looked  with  a  lecherous  eye  upon  every  wine-shop. 
Suggestions  to  stop,  excuses  to  eat  and  to  drink 
were  forever  on  his  lips.  We  tried  all  we  could  to 
fill  him  so  full  that  he  would  have  no  room  to  spare 


The  Innocents  Abroad  16; 

for  a  fortnight ;  but  it  was  a  failure.  He  did  not 
hold  enough  to  smother  the  cravings  of  his  super 
human  appetite. 

He  had  another  "discrepancy"  about  him.  He 
was  always  wanting  us  to  buy  things.  On  the  shal 
lowest  pretenses,  he  would  inveigle  us  into  shirt- 
stores,  boot-stores,  tailor-shops,  glove-shops  —  any 
where  under  the  broad  sweep  of  the  heavens  that 
there  seemed  a  chance  of  our  buying  anything.  Any 
one  could  have  guessed  that  the  shopkeepers  paid 
him  a  percentage  on  the  sales ;  but  in  our  blessed 
innocence  we  didn't,  until  this  feature  of  his  conduct 
grew  unbearably  prominent.  One  day,  Dan  hap 
pened  to  mention  that  he  thought  of  buying  three  or 
four  silk  dress-patterns  for  presents.  Ferguson's 
hungry  eye  was  upon  him  in  an  instant.  In  the 
course  of  twenty  minutes,  the  carriage  stopped. 

"  What's  this?" 

"  Zis  is  ze  finest  silk  magazin  in  Paris  —  ze  most 
celebrate." 

"  What  did  you  come  here  for?  We  told  you  to 
take  us  to  the  palace  of  the  Louvre." 

"  I  suppose  ze  gentleman  say  he  wish  to  buy  some 
silk." 

"You  are  not  required  to  'suppose*  things  for 
the  party,  Ferguson.  We  do  not  wish  to  tax  your 
energies  too  much.  We  will  bear  some  of  the 
burden  and  heat  of  the  day  ourselves.  We  will 
endeavor  to  do  such  '  supposing '  as  is  really  neces 
sary  to  be  done.  Drive  on."  So  spake  the  doctor. 


168  The  Innocents  Abroad 

Within  fifteen  minutes  the  carriage  halted  again, 
and  before  another  silk-store.  The  doctor  said : 

44  Ah,  the  palace  of  the  Louvre;  beautiful,  beau 
tiful  edifice !  Does  the  Emperor  Napoleon  live  here 
now,  Ferguson?" 

44  Ah,  doctor!  you  do  jest;  zis  is  not  ze  palace; 
we  come  there  directly.  But  since  we  pass  right  by 
zis  store,  where  is  such  beautiful  silk " 

*4  Ah!  I  see,  I  see.  I  meant  to  have  told  you 
that  we  did  not  wish  to  purchase  any  silks  to-day; 
but  in  my  absentmindedness  I  forgot  it.  I  also 
meant  to  tell  you  we  wished  to  go  directly  to  the 
Louvre;  but  I  forgot  that  also.  However,  we  will 
go  there  now.  Pardon  my  seeming  carelessness, 
Ferguson.  Drive  on." 

Within  the  half-hour,  we  stopped  again  —  in  from 
of  another  silk-store.  We  were  angry;  but  the 
doctor  was  always  serene,  always  smooth-voiced. 
He  said. 

i4  At  last!  How  imposing  the  Louvre  is,  and  yet 
how  small !  how  exquisitely  fashioned  !  how  charm 
ingly  situated!  Venerable,  venerable  pile " 

14  Pairdon,  doctor,  zis  is  not  ze  Louvre — it 
is " 

44  What  is  it?" 

44 1  have  ze  idea —  it  come  to  me  in  a  moment  — 
zat  ze  silk  in  zis  magazin ' ' 

"  Ferguson,  how  heedless  I  am!  I  fully  intended 
to  tell  you  that  we  did  not  wish  to  buy  any  silks  to 
day,  and  I  also  intended  to  tell  you  that  we  yearned 


The  Innocents  Abroad  169 

to  go  immediately  to  the  palace  of  the  Louvre,  but 
enjoying  the  happiness  of  seeing  you  devour  four 
breakfasts  this  morning  has  so  filled  me  with  pleasur 
able  emotions  that  I  neglect  the  commonest  interests 
of  the  time.  However,  we  will  proceed  now  to  the 
Louvre,  Ferguson." 

"  But,  doctor  "  (excitedly),  "it  will  take  not  a 
minute  —  not  but  one  small  minute  !  Ze  gentleman 
need  not  to  buy  if  he  not  wish  to  —  but  only  look  at 
ze  silk  —  look  at  ze  beautiful  fabric."  [Then  plead 
ingly.]  "  Sair — just  only  one  leetle  moment!" 

Dan  said,  **  Confound  the  idiot!  I  don't  want  to 
see  any  silks  to-day,  and  I  won't  look  at  them. 
Drive  on." 

And  the  doctor:  **  We  need  no  silks  now,  Fergu 
son.  Our  hearts  yearn  for  the  Louvre,  Let  us 
journey  on  —  let  us  journey  on." 

"But,  doctor!  it  is  only  one  moment — one  leetle 
moment.  And  ze  time  will  be  save  —  entirely  save! 
Because  zere  is  nothing  to  see,  now — it  is  too  late. 
It  want  ten  minute  to  four  and  ze  Louvre  close  at 
four  —  only  one  leetle- moment,  doctor!" 

The  treacherous  miscreant !  After  four  breakfasts 
and  a  gallon  of  champagne,  to  serve  us  such  a  scurvy 
trick.  We  got  no  sight  of  the  countless  treasures  of 
art  in  the  Louvre  galleries  that  day,  and  our  only 
poor  little  satisfaction  was  in  the  reflection  that 
Ferguson  sold  not  a  solitary  silk  dress-pattern. 

I  am  writing  this  chapter  partly  for  the  satisfac 
tion  of  abusing  that  accomplished  knave,  Billfinger, 


170  The  Innocents  Abroad 

and  partly  to  show  whosoever  shall  read  this  how 
Americans  fare  at  the  hands  of  the  Paris  guides,  and 
what  sort  of  people  Paris  guides  are.  It  need  not 
be  supposed  that  we  were  a  stupider  or  an  easier 
prey  than  our  countrymen  generally  are,  for  we 
were  not.  The  guides  deceive  and  defraud  every 
American  who  goes  to  Paris  for  thl  first  time  and 
sees  its  sights  alone  or  in  company  with  others  as 
little  experienced  as  himself.  I  shall  visit  Paris 
again  some  day,  and  then  let  the  guides  beware !  I 
shall  go  in  my  war-paint — I  shall  carry  my  toma 
hawk  along. 

I  think  we  have  lost  but  little  time  in  Paris.  We 
have  gone  to  bed  every  night  tired  out.  Of  course, 
we  visited  the  renowned  International  Exposition. 
All  the  world  did  that.  We  went  there  on  our  third 
day  in  Paris  —  and  we  stayed  there  nearly  two  hours. 
That  was  our  first  and  last  visit.  To  tell  the  truth, 
we  saw  at  a  glance  that  one  would  have  to  spend 
weeks  —  yea,  even  months  —  in  that  monstrous 
establishment,  to  get  an  intelligible  idea  of  it.  It 
was  a  wonderful  show,  but  the  moving  masses  of 
people  of  all  nations  we  saw  there  were  a  still  more 
wonderful  show.  I  discovered  that  if  I  were  to  stay 
there  a  month,  I  should  still  find  myself  looking  at 
the  people  instead  of  the  inanimate  objects  on 
exhibition.  I  got  a  little  interested  in  some  curious 
old  tapestries  of  the  thirteenth  century,  but  a  party 
of  Arabs  came  by,  and  their  dusky  faces  and  quaint 
costumes  called  my  attention  away  at  once.  I 


The  Innocents  Abroad  171 

watched  a  silver  swan,  which  had  a  living  grace 
about  his  movements,  and  a  living  intelligence  in  his 
eyes  —  watched  him  swimming  about  as  comfortably 
and  as  unconcernedly  as  if  he  had  been  born  in  a 
morass  instead  of  a  jeweler's  shop  —  watched  him 
seize  a  silver  fish  from  under  the  water  and  hold  up 
his  head  and  go  through  all  the  customary  and 
elaborate  motions  of  swallowing  it  —  but  the  moment 
it  disappeared  down  his  throat  some  tattooed  South 
Sea  Islanders  approached  and  I  yielded  to  their 
attractions.  Presently  I  found  a  revolving  pistol 
several  hundred  years  old  which  looked  strangely 
like  a  modern  Colt,  but  just  then  I  heard  that  the 
Empress  of  the  French  was  in  another  part  of  the 
building,  and  hastened  away  to  see  what  she  might 
look  like.  We  heard  martial  music  —  we  saw  an 
unusual  number  of  soldiers  walking  hurriedly  about 
—  there  was  a  general  movement  among  the  people. 
We  inquired  what  it  was  all  about,  and  learned  that 
the  Emperor  of  the  French  and  the  Sultan  of  Turkey 
were  about  to  review  twenty-five  thousand  troops  at 
the  Arc  de  r£toile.  We  immediately  departed.  I 
had  a  greater  anxiety  to  see  these  men  than  I  could 
have  had  to  see  twenty  expositions. 

We  drove  away  and  took  up  a  position  in  an  open 
space  opposite  the  American  minister's  house.  A 
speculator  bridged  a  couple  of  barrels  with  a  board 
and  we  hired  standing  places  on  it.  Presently  there 
v/as  a  sound  of  distant  music ;  in  another  minute  a 
pillar  of  dust  came  moving  slowly  toward  us ;  a  mo- 


172  The  Innocents  Abroad 

ment  more,  and  then,  with  colors  flying  and  a  grand 
crash  of  military  music,  a  gallant  array  of  cavalry 
men  emerged  from  the  dust  and  came  down  the 
street  on  a  gentle  trot.  After  them  came  a  long 
line  of  artillery;  then  more  cavalry,  in  splendid 
uniforms;  and  then  their  Imperial  Majesties,  Napo 
leon  III  and  Abdul  Aziz.  The  vast  concourse  of 
people  swung  their  hats  and  shouted  —  the  windows 
and  housetops  in  the  wide  vicinity  burst  into  a 
snow-storm  of  waving  handkerchiefs,  and  the  wavers 
of  the  same  mingled  their  cheers  with  those  of  the 
masses  below.  It  was  a  stirring  spectacle. 

But  the  two  central  figures  claimed  all  my  atten 
tion.  Was  ever  such  a  contrast  set  up  before  a 
multitude  till  then?  Napoleon,  in  military  uniform 
—  a  long-bodied,  short-legged  man.  fiercely  mus- 
tached,  old,  wrinkled,  with  eyes  half  closed,  and 
such  a  deep,  crafty,  scheming  expression  about 
them!  Napoleon,  bowing  ever  so  gently  to  the 
loud  plaudits,  and  watching  everything  and  every 
body  with  his  cat-eyes  from  under  his  depressed  hat- 
brim,  as  if  to  discover  any  sign  that  those  cheers 
were  not  heartfelt  and  cordial. 

Abdul  Aziz,  absolute  lord  of  the  Ottoman  Em 
pire, —  clad  in  dark  green  European  clothes,  almost 
without  ornament  or  insignia  of  rank ;  a  red  Turkish 
fez  on  his  head  —  a  short,  stout,  dark  man,  black- 
bearded,  black-eyed,  stupid,  unprepossessing  —  a 
man  whose  whole  appearance  somehow  suggested 
that  if  he  only  had  a  cleaver  in  his  hand  and  a  white 


The  Innocents  Abroad  173 

apron  on,  one  would  not  be  at  all  surprised  to  hear 
him  say :  * '  A  mutton  roast  to-day,  or  will  you  have 
a  nice  porterhouse  steak?" 

Napoleon  III,  the  representative  of  the  highest 
modern  civilization,  progress,  and  refinement;  Ab 
dul  Aziz,  the  representative  of  a  people  by  nature 
and  training  filthy,  brutish,  ignorant,  unprogressive, 
superstitious  —  and  a  government  whose  Three 
Graces  are  Tyranny,  Rapacity,  Blood.  Here  in 
brilliant  Paris,  under  this  majestic  Arch  of  Triumph, 
the  First  Century  greets  the  Nineteenth ! 

NAPOLEON  III,  Emperor  of  France!  Surrounded 
by  shouting  thousands,  by  military  pomp,  by  the 
splendors  of  his  capital  city,  and  companioned  by 
kings  and  princes  —  this  is  the  man  who  was  sneered 
at,  and  reviled,  and  called  Bastard  —  yet  who  was 
dreaming  of  a  crown  and  an  empire  all  the  while ; 
who  was  driven  into  exile  —  but  carried  his  dreams 
with  him ;  who  associated  with  the  common  herd  in 
America,  and  ran  foot-races  for  a  wager  —  but  still 
sat  upon  a  throne,  in  fancy;  who  braved  every 
danger  to  go  to  his  dying  mother  —  and  grieved  that 
she  could  not  be  spared  to  see  him  cast  aside  his 
plebeian  vestments  for  the  purple  of  royalty;  who 
kept  his  faithful  watch  and  walked  his  weary  beat  a 
common  policeman  of  London  —  but  dreamed  the 
while  of  a  coming  night  when  he  should  tread  the 
long-drawn  corridors  of  the  Tuileries;  who  made 
the  miserable  fiasco  of  Strasbourg;  saw  his  poor, 
shabby  eagle,  forgetful  of  its  lesson,  refuse  to  perch 


174  The  Innocents  Abroad 

upon  his  shoulder;  delivered  his  carefully  prepared, 
sententious  burst  of  eloquence  upon  unsympathetic 
ears;  found  himself  a  prisoner,  the  butt  of  small 
wits,  a  mark  for  the  pitiless  ridicule  of  all  the  world 
—  yet  went  on  dreaming  of  coronations  and  splendid 
pageants  as  before ;  who  lay  a  forgotten  captive  in 
the  dungeons  of  Ham  —  and  still  schemed  and 
planned  and  pondered  over  future  glory  and  future 
power;  President  of  France  at  lastl  a  coup  cT  ttat 
and  surrounded  by  applauding  armies,  welcomed  by 
the  thunders  of  cannon,  he  mounts  a  throne  and 
waves  before  an  astounded  world  the  scepter  of  a 
mighty  empire !  Who  talks  of  the  marvels  of  fic 
tion?  Who  speaks  of  the  wonders  of  romance? 
Who  prates  of  the  tame  achievements  of  Aladdin 
and  the  Magi  of  Arabia? 

ABDUL  Aziz,  Sultan  of  Turkey,  Lord  of  the 
Ottoman  Empire  !  Born  to  a  throne  ;  weak,  stupid, 
ignorant,  almost,  as  his  meanest  slave;  chief  of  a 
vast  royalty,  yet  the  puppet  of  his  premier  and  the 
obedient  child  of  a  tyrannical  mother;  a  man  who 
sits  upon  a  throne  —  the  beck  of  whose  finger  moves 
navies  and  armies  —  who  holds  in  his  hands  the 
power  of  life  and  death  over  millions  —  yet  who 
sleeps,  sleeps,  eats,  eats,  idles  with  his  eight  hundred 
concubines,  and  when  he  is  surfeited  with  eating  and 
sleeping  and  idling,  and  would  rouse  up  and  take 
the  reins  of  government  and  threaten  to  be  a  Sultan, 
is  charmed  from  his  purpose  by  wary  Fuad  Pacha 
with  a  pretty  plan  for  a  new  palace  or  a  new  ship  — 


The  Innocents  Abroad  175 

charmed  away  with  a  new  toy,  like  any  other  restless 
child ;  a  man  who  sees  his  people  robbed  and  op 
pressed  by  soulless  tax-gatherers,  but  speaks  no 
word  to  save  them;  who  believes  in  gnomes  and 
genii  and  the  wild  fables  of  the  Arabian  Nights,  but 
has  small  regard  for  the  mighty  magicians  of  to-day, 
and  is  nervous  in  the  presence  of  their  mysterious 
railroads  and  steamboats  and  telegraphs ;  who  would 
see  undone  in  Egypt  all  that  great  Mehemet  Ali 
achieved,  and  would  prefer  rather  to  forget  than 
emulate  him ;  a  man  who  found  his  great  empire  a 
blot  upon  the  earth  —  a  degraded,  poverty-stricken, 
miserable,  infamous  agglomeration  of  ignorance, 
crime,  and  brutality,  and  will  idle  away  the  allotted 
days  of  his  trivial  life,  and  then  pass  to  the  dust  and 
the  worms  and  leave  it  so ! 

Napoleon  has  augmented  the  commercial  pros 
perity  of  France,  in  ten  years,  to  such  a  degree  that 
figures  can  hardly  compute  it.  He  has  rebuilt  Paris, 
and  has  partly  rebuilt  every  city  in  the  state.  He 
condemns  a  whole  street  at  a  time,  assesses  the 
damages,  pays  them,  and  rebuilds  superbly.  Then 
speculators  buy  up  the  ground  and  sell,  but  the 
original  owner  is  given  the  first  choice  by  the  gov 
ernment  at  a  stated  price  before  the  speculator  is 
permitted  to  purchase.  But  above  all  things,  he 
has  taken  the  sole  control  of  the  empire  of  France 
into  his  hands,  and  made  it  a  tolerably  free  land  — 
for  people  who  will  not  attempt  to  go  too  far  in 
meddling  with  government  affairs.  No  country 


176  The  Innocents  Abroad 

offers  greater  security  to  life  and  property  than 
France,  and  one  has  all  the  freedom  he  wants,  but 
no  license  —  no  license  to  interfere  with  anybody, 
or  make  any  one  uncomfortable. 

As  for  the  Sultan,  one  could  set  a  trap  anywhere 
and  catch  a  dozen  abler  men  in  a  night. 

The  bands  struck  up,  and  the  brilliant  adventurer, 
Napoleon  III,  the  genius  of  Energy,  Persistence, 
Enterprise;  and  the  feeble  Abdul  Aziz,  the  genius  of 
Ignorance,  Bigotry,  and  Indolence,  prepared  for  the 
Forward  —  March ! 

We  saw  the  splendid  review,  we  saw  the  white- 
moustached  old  Crimean  soldier,  Canrobert,  Marshal 
of  France,  we  saw  —  well,  we  saw  everything,  and 
then  we  went  home  satisfied. 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

WE  went  to  see  the  Cathedral  of  Notre  Dame, 
We  had  heard  of  it  before.  It  surprises  me3 
sometimes,  to  think  how  much  we  do  know,  and  how 
intelligent  we  are.  We  recognized  the  brown  old 
Gothic  pile  in  a  moment ;  it  was  like  the  pictures, 
We  stood  at  a  little  distance  and  changed  from  one 
point  of  observation  to  another,  and  gazed  long  at 
its  lofty  square  towers  and  its  rich  front,  clustered 
thick  with  stony,  mutilated  saints  who  had  been 
looking  calmly  down  from  their  perches  for  ages. 
The  Patriarch  of  Jerusalem  stood  under  them  in  the 
old  days  of  chivalry  and  romance,  and  preached  the 
third  Crusade,  more  than  six  hundred  years  ago; 
and  since  that  day  they  have  stood  there  and  looked 
quietly  down  upon  the  most  thrilling  scenes,  the 
grandest  pageants,  the  most  extraordinary  spectacles 
that  have  grieved  or  delighted  Paris.  These  bat 
tered  and  broken-nosed  old  fellows  saw  many  and 
many  a  cavalcade  of  mail-clad  knights  come  march 
ing  home  from  Holy  Land;  they  heard  the  bells 
above  them  toll  the  signal  for  the  St.  Bartholomew's 
Massacre,  and  they  saw  the  slaughter  that  followed; 
12»  (177) 


178  The  Innocents  Abroad 

later,  they  saw  the  Reign  of  Terror,  the  carnage  of 
the  Revolution,  the  overthrow  of  a  king,  the  corona 
tion  of  two  Napoleons,  the  christening  of  the  young 
prince  that  lords  it  over  a  regiment  of  servants  in 
the  Tuileries  to-day  —  and  they  may  possibly  con 
tinue  to  stand  there  until  they  see  the  Napoleon 
dynasty  swept  away  and  the  banners  of  a  great  Re 
public  floating  above  its  ruins.  I  wish  these  old 
parties  could  speak.  They  could  tell  a  tale  worth 
the  listening  to. 

They  say  that  a  pagan  temple  stood  where  Notre 
Dame  now  stands,  in  the  old  Roman  days,  eighteen 
or  twenty  centuries  ago  —  remains  of  it  are  still  pre 
served  in  Paris;  and  that  a  Christian  church  took 
its  place  about  A.  D.  300;  another  took  the  place 
of  that  in  A.  D.  500;  and  that  the  foundations  of 
the  present  cathedral  were  laid  about  A.  D.  noo. 
The  ground  ought  to  be  measurably  sacred  by  this 
time,  one  would  think.  One  portion  of  this  noble 
old  edifice  is  suggestive  of  the  quaint  fashions  of 
ancient  times.  It  was  built  by  Jean  Sans-Peur, 
Duke  of  Burgundy,  to  set  his  conscience  at  rest  — 
he  had  assassinated  the  Duke  of  Orleans.  Alas ! 
those  good  old  times  are  gone,  when  a  murderer 
could  wipe  the  stain  from  his  name  and  soothe  his 
troubles  to  sleep  simply  by  getting  out  his  bricks 
and  mortar  and  building  an  addition  to  a  church. 

The  portals  of  the  great  western  front  are  bisected 
by  square  pillars.  They  took  the  central  one  away, 
in  1852,  on  the  occasion  of  thanksgivings  for  the 


The  Innocents  Abroad  179 

reinstitution  of  the  Presidential  power  —  but  precious 
soon  they  had  occasion  to  reconsider  that  motion 
and  put  it  back  again !  And  they  did. 

We  loitered  through  the  grand  aisles  for  an  hour 
or  two,  staring  up  at  the  rich  stained-glass  windows 
embellished  with  blue  and  yellow  and  crimson  saints 
and  martyrs,  and  trying  to  admire  the  numberless 
great  pictures  in  the  chapels,  and  then  we  were  ad 
mitted  to  the  sacristy  and  shown  the  magnificent 
robes  which  the  Pope  wore  when  he  crowned  Napo 
leon  I ;  a  wagon-load  of  solid  gold  and  silver  uten 
sils  used  in  the  great  public  processions  and  cere 
monies  of  the  church ;  some  nails  of  the  true  cross, 
a  fragment  of  the  cross  itself,  a  part  of  the  crown 
of  thorns.  We  had  already  seen  a  large  piece  of  the 
true  cross  in  a  church  in  the  Azores,  but  no  nails. 
They  showed  us  likewise  the  bloody  robe  which  that 
Archbishop  of  Paris  wore  who  exposed  his  sacred 
person  and  braved  the  wrath  of  the  insurgents  of 
1848,  to  mount  the  barricades  and  hold  aloft  the 
olive  branch  of  peace  in  the  hope  of  stopping  the 
slaughter.  His  noble  effort  cost  him  his  life.  He 
was  shot  dead.  They  showed  us  a  cast  of  his  face, 
taken  after  death,  the  bullet  that  killed  him,  and  the 
two  vertebrae  in  which  it  lodged.  These  people 
have  a  somewhat  singular  taste  in  the  matter  of 
relics.  Ferguson  told  us  that  the  silver  cross  which 
the  good  archbishop  wore  at  his  girdle  was  seized 
and  thrown  into  the  Seine,  where  it  lay  embedded 
in  the  mud  for  fifteen  years,  and  then  an  angel  ap- 
L* 


180  The  Innocents  Abroad 

peared  to  a  priest  and  told  him  where  to  dive  for  it ; 
he  did  dive  for  it  and  got  it,  and  now  it  is  there  on 
exhibition  at  Notre  Dame,  to  be  inspected  by  any 
body  who  feels  an  interest  in  inanimate  objects  of 
miraculous  intervention. 

Next  we  went  to  visit  the  Morgue,  that  horrible 
receptacle  for  the  dead  who  die  mysteriously  and 
leave  the  manner  of  their  taking  off  a  dismal  secret. 
We  stood  before  a  grating  and  looked  through  into 
a  room  which  was  hung  all  about  with  the  clothing 
of  dead  men ;  coarse  blouses,  water-soaked ;  the 
delicate  garments  of  women  and  children ;  patrician 
vestments,  flecked  and  stabbed  and  stained  with  red; 
a  hat  that  was  crushed  and  bloody.  On  a  slanting 
stone  lay  a  drowned  man,  naked,  swollen,  purple; 
clasping  the  fragment  of  a  broken  bush  with  a  grip 
which  death  had  so  petrified  that  human  strength 
could  not  unloose  it  —  mute  witness  of  the  last  de 
spairing  effort  to  save  the  life  that  was  doomed 
beyond  all  help.  A  stream  of  water  trickled  cease 
lessly  over  the  hideous  face.  We  knew  that  the 
body  and  the  clothing  were  there  for  identification 
by  friends,  but  still  we  wondered  if  anybody  could 
love  that  repulsive  object  or  grieve  for  its  loss.  We 
grew  meditative  and  wondered  if,  some  forty  years 
ago,  when  the  mother  of  that  ghastly  thing  was 
dandling  it  upon  her  knee,  and  kissing  it  and  petting 
it  and  displaying  it  with  satisfied  pride  to  the  passers- 
by,  a  prophetic  vision  of  this  dread  ending  ever 
flitted  through  her  brain.  I  half  feared  that  the 


The  Innocents  Abroad  181 

mother,  or  the  wife  or  a  brother  of  the  dead  man 
might  come  while  we  stood  there,  but  nothing  of 
the  kind  occurred.  Men  and  women  came,  and 
some  looked  eagerly  in,  and  pressed  their  faces 
against  the  bars;  others  glanced  carelessly  at  the 
body,  and  turned  away  with  a  disappointed  look  — 
people,  I  thought,  who  live  upon  strong  excite 
ments,  and  who  attend  the  exhibitions  of  the 
Morgue  regularly,  just  as  other  people  go  to  see 
theatrical  spectacles  every  night.  When  one  of 
these  looked  in  and  passed  on,  I  could  not  help 
thinking  — 

'*  Now  this  don't  afford  you  any  satisfaction  —  a 
party  with  his  head  shot  off  is  what  you  need." 

One  night  we  went  to  the  celebrated  Jar  din 
Mabille^  but  only  stayed  a  little  while.  We  wanted 
to  see  some  of  this  kind  of  Paris  life,  however,  and 
therefore  the  next  night  we  went  to  a  similar  place 
of  entertainment  in  a  great  garden  in  the  suburb  of 
Asnie'res.  We  went  to  the  railroad  depot,  toward 
evening,  and  Ferguson  got  tickets  for  a  second-class 
carriage.  Such  a  perfect  jam  of  people  I  have  not 
often  seen  —  but  there  was  no  noise,  no  disorder, 
no  rowdyism.  Some  of  the  women  and  young  girls 
that  entered  the  train  we  knew  to  be  of  the  demi 
monde  ^  but  others  we  were  not  at  all  sure  about. 

The  girls  and  women  in  our  carriage  behaved 
themselves  modestly  and  becomingly  all  the  way 
out,  except  that  they  smoked.  When  we  arrived  at 
the  garden  in  Asnie'res,  we  paid  a  franc  or  two  ad- 


182  The  Innocents  Abroad 

mission,  and  entered  a  place  which  had  flower-beds 
in  it,  and  grass-plats,  and  long,  curving  rows  of 
ornamental  shrubbery,  with  here  and  there  a  secluded 
bower  convenient  for  eating  ice-cream  in.  We  moved 
along  the  sinuous  gravel  walks,  with  the  great  con 
course  of  girls  and  young  men,  and  suddenly  a 
domed  and  filigreed  white  temple,  starred  over  and 
over  and  over  again  with  brilliant  gas  jets,  burst 
upon  us  like  a  fallen  sun.  Near  by  was  a  large, 
handsome  house  with  its  ample  front  illuminated  in 
the  same  way,  and  above  its  roof  floated  the  Star 
Spangled  Banner  of  America. 

44  Well!"  I  said.  "  How  is  this?"  It  nearly 
took  my  breath  away. 

Ferguson  said  an  American  —  a  New  Yorker  — 
kept  the  place,  and  was  carrying  on  quite  a  stirring 
opposition  to  the  Jardin  Mabille. 

Crowds,  composed  of  both  sexes  and  nearly  all 
ages,  were  frisking  about  the  garden  or  sitting  in  the 
open  air  in  front  of  the  flagstaff  and  the  temple, 
drinking  wine  and  coffee,  or  smoking.  The  dancing 
had  not  begun  yet.  Ferguson  said  there  was  to  be 
an  exhibition.  The  famous  Blondin  was  going  to 
perform  on  a  tight  rope  in  another  part  of  the  garden. 
We  went  thither.  Here  the  light  was  dim,  and  the 
masses  of  people  were  pretty  closely  packed  together. 
And  now  I  made  a  mistake  which  any  donkey  might 
make,  but  a  sensible  man  never.  I  committed  an 
error  which  I  find  myself  repeating  every  day  of  my 
life.  Standing  right  before  a  young  lady,  I  said : 


The  Innocents  ADroad  183 

"  Dan,  just  look  at  this  girl,  how  beautiful  she 
is!" 

*  I  thank  you  more  for  the  evident  sincerity  of 
the  compliment,  sir,  than  for  the  extraordinary 
publicity  you  have  given  to  it!"  This  in  good, 
pure  English. 

We  took  a  walk,  but  my  spirits  were  very,  very 
sadly  dampened.  I  did  not  feel  right  comfortable 
for  some  time  afterward.  Why  will  people  be  so 
stupid  as  to  suppose  themselves  the  only  foreigners 
among  a  crowd  of  ten  thousand  persons? 

But  Blondin  came  out  shortly.  He  appeared  on 
a  stretched  cable,  far  away  above  the  sea  of  tossing 
hats  and  handkerchiefs,  and  in  the  glare  of  the  hun 
dreds  of  rockets  that  whizzed  heavenward  by  him  he 
looked  like  a  wee  insect.  He  balanced  his  pole  and 
walked  the  length  of  his  rope  —  two  or  three  hun 
dred  feet ;  he  came  back  and  got  a  man  and  carried 
him  across;  he  returned  to  the  center  and  danced  a 
jig;  next  he  performed  some  gymnastic  and  balanc 
ing  feats  too  perilous  to  afford  a  pleasant  spectacle ; 
and  he  finished  by  fastening  to  his  person  a  thou 
sand  Roman  candles,  Catherine  wheels,  serpents  and 
rockets  of  all  manner  of  brilliant  colors,  setting  them 
on  fire  all  at  once  and  walking  and  waltzing  across 
his  rope  again  in  a  blinding  blaze  of  glory  that  lit  up 
the  garden  and  the  people's  faces  like  a  great  con 
flagration  at  midnight. 

The  dance  had  begun,  and  we  adjourned  to  the 
temple.  Within  it  was  a  drinking-saloon ;  and  all 


184  The  Innocents  Abroad 

around  it  was  a  broad  circular  platform  for  the 
dancers.  I  backed  up  against  the  wall  of  the  temple, 
and  waited.  Twenty  sets  formed,  the  music  struck 
up,  and  then  —  I  placed  my  hands  before  my  face 
for  very  shame.  But  I  looked  through  my  fingers. 
They  were  dancing  the  renowned  "Can-can."  A 
handsome  girl  in  the  set  before  me  tripped  forward 
lightly  to  meet  the  opposite  gentleman  —  tripped 
back  again,  grasped  her  dresses  vigorously  on 
both  sides  with  her  hands,  raised  them  pretty  high, 
danced  an  extraordinary  jig  that  had  more  activity 
and  exposure  about  it  than  any  jig  I  ever  saw  be 
fore,  and  then,  drawing  her  clothes  still  higher,  she 
advanced  gaily  to  the  center  and  launched  a  vicious 
kick  full  at  her  vis-a-vis  that  must  infallibly  have 
removed  his  nose  if  he  had  been  seven  feet  high.  It 
was  a  mercy  he  was  only  six. 

That  is  the  can-can.  The  idea  of  it  is  to  dance  as 
wildly,  as  noisily,  as  furiously  as  you  can ;  expose 
yourself  as  much  as  possible  if  you  are  a  woman ; 
and  kick  as  high  as  you  can,  no  matter  which  sex 
you  belong  to.  There  is  no  word  of  exaggeration 
in  this.  Any  of  the  staid,  respectable,  aged  people 
who  were  there  that  night  can  testify  to  the  truth  of 
that  statement.  There  were  a  good  many  such 
people  present.  I  suppose  French  morality  is  not 
of  that  strait-laced  description  which  is  shocked  at 
trifles. 

I  moved  aside  and  took  a  general  view  of  the  can 
can.  Shouts,  laughter,  furious  music,  a  bewildering 


The  Innocents  Abroad  185 

chaos  of  darting  and  intermingling  forms,  storm? 
jerking  and  snatching  of  gay  dresses,  bobbing  heads, 
flying  arms,  lightning  flashes  of  white-stockinged 
calves  and  dainty  slippers  in  the  air,  and  then  a 
grand  final  rush,  riot,  a  terrific  hubbub,  and  a  wild 
stampede !  Heavens !  Nothing  like  it  has  been 
seen  on  earth  since  trembling  Tarn  O'Shanter  saw 
the  devil  and  the  witches  at  their  orgies  that  stormy 
night  in  "  Alloway's  auld  haunted  kirk." 

We  visited  the  Louvre,  at  a  time  when  we  had  no 
silk  purchases  in  view,  and  looked  at  its  miles  of 
paintings  by  the  old  masters.  Some  of  them  were 
beautiful,  but  at  the  same  time  they  carried  such 
evidences  about  them  of  the  cringing  spirit  of  those 
great  men  that  we  found  small  pleasure  in  examining 
them.  Their  nauseous  adulation  of  princely  patrons 
was  more  prominent  to  me  and  chained  my  attention 
more  surely  than  the  charms  of  color  and  expression 
which  are  claimed  to  be  in  the  pictures.  Gratitude 
for  kindnesses  is  well,  but  it  seems  to  me  that  some 
of  those  artists  carried  it  so  far  that  it  ceased  to  be 
gratitude,  and  became  worship.  If  there  is  a  plau 
sible  excuse  for  the  worship  of  men,  then  by  all 
means  let  us  forgive  Rubens  and  his  brethren. 

But  I  will  drop  the  subject,  lest  I  say  something 
about  the  old  masters  that  might  as  well  be  left 
unsaid. 

Of  course  we  drove  in  the  Bois  de  Boulogne,  that 
limitless  park,  with  its  forests,  its  lakes,  its  cascades, 
and  its  broad  avenues.  There  were  thousands  upon 


186  The  innocents  Abroad 

thousands  of  vehicles  abroad,  and  the  scene  was  full 
of  life  and  gayety.  There  were  very  common  hacks, 
with  father  and  mother  and  all  the  children  in  them ; 
conspicuous  little  open  carriages  with  celebrated 
ladies  of  questionable  reputation  in  them;  there 
were  Dukes  and  Duchesses  abroad,  with  gorgeous 
footmen  perched  behind,  and  equally  gorgeous  out 
riders  perched  on  each  of  the  six  horses ;  there  were 
blue  and  silver,  and  green  and  gold,  and  pink  and 
black,  and  all  sorts  and  descriptions  of  stunning  and 
startling  liveries  out,  and  I  almost  yearned  to  be  a 
flunkey  myself,  for  the  sake  of  the  fine  clothes. 

But  presently  the  Emperor  came  along  and  he 
outshone  them  all.  He  was  preceded  by  a  body 
guard  of  gentlemen  on  horseback  in  showy  uniforms, 
his  carriage  horses  (there  appeared  to  be  somewhere 
in  the  remote  neighborhood  of  a  thousand  of  them) 
were  bestridden  by  gallant  looking  fellows,  also  in 
stylish  uniforms,  and  after  the  carriage  followed 
another  detachment  of  body-guards.  Everybody 
get  out  of  the  way ;  everybody  bowed  to  the  Em 
peror  and  his  friend  the  Sultan,  and  they  went  by 
on  a  swinging  trot  and  disappeared. 

I  will  not  describe  the  Bois  de  Boulogne.  I  can 
not  do  it.  It  is  simply  a  beautiful,  cultivated,  end 
less,  wonderful  wilderness.  It  is  an  enchanting 
place.  It  is  in  Paris,  now,  one  may  say,  but  a 
crumbling  old  cross  in  one  portion  of  it  reminds  one 
that  it  was  not  always  so.  The  cross  marks  the  spot 
where  a  celebrated  troubadour  was  waylaid  and  mur- 


The  Innocents  Abroad  187 

dered  in  the  fourteenth  century.  It  was  in  this  park 
that  that  fellow  with  an  unpronounceable  name  made 
the  attempt  upon  the  Russian  Czar's  life  last  spring 
with  a  pistol.  The  bullet  struck  a  tree.  Ferguson 
showed  us  the  place.  Now  in  America  that  interest 
ing  tree  would  be  chopped  down  or  forgotten 
within  the  next  five  years,  but  it  will  be  treasured 
here.  The  guides  will  point  it  out  to  visitors  for 
the  next  eight  hundred  years,  and  when  it  decays 
and  falls  down  they  will  put  up  another  there  and  go 
on  with  the  same  old  story  just  the  same. 


CHAPTER   XV. 

ONE  of  our  pleasantest  visits  was  to  Pere  la 
Chaise,  the  national  burying-ground  of 
France,  the  honored  resting-place  of  some  of  her 
greatest  and  best  children,  the  last  home  of  scores 
of  illustrious  men  and  women  who  were  born  to  no 
titles,  but  achieved  fame  by  their  own  energy  and 
their  own  genius.  It  is  a  solemn  city  of  winding 
streets,  and  of  miniature  marble  temples  and  man 
sions  of  the  dead  gleaming  white  from  out  a  wilder 
ness  of  foliage  and  fresh  flowers.  Not  every  city  is 
so  well  peopled  as  this,  or  has  so  ample  an  area 
within  its  walls.  Few  palaces  exist  in  any  city  that 
are  so  exquisite  in  design,  so  rich  in  art,  so  costly 
in  material,  so  graceful,  so  beautiful. 

We  had  stood  in  the  ancient  church  of  St.  Denis, 
where  the  marble  effigies  of  thirty  generations  of 
kings  and  queens  lay  stretched  at  length  upon  the 
tombs,  and  the  sensations  invoked  were  startling  and 
novel;  the  curious  armor,  the  obsolete  costumes, 
the  placid  faces,  the  hands  placed  palm  to  palm  in 
eloquent  supplication  —  it  was  a  vision  of  gray 
antiquity.  It  seemed  curious  enough  to  be  standing 

(188) 


The  Innocents  Abroad  189 

face  to  face,  as  it  were,  with  old  Dagobert  I,  and 
Clovis  and  Charlemagne,  those  vague,  colossal 
heroes,  those  shadows,  those  myths  of  a  thousand 
years  ago  !  I  touched  their  dust-covered  faces  with 
my  finger,  but  Dagobert  was  deader  than  the  sixteen 
centuries  that  have  passed  over  him,  Clovis  slept 
well  after  his  labor  for  Christ,  and  old  Charlemagne 
went  on  dreaming  of  his  paladins,  of  bloody  Ronces- 
valles,  and  gave  no  heed  to  me. 

The  great  names  of  Pere  la  Chaise  impress  one, 
too,  but  differently.  There  the  suggestion  brought 
constantly  to  his  mind  is,  that  this  place  is  sacred 
to  a  nobler  royalty  —  the  royalty  of  heart  and  brain. 
Every  faculty  of  mind,  every  noble  trait  of  human 
nature,  every  high  occupation  which  men  engage  in, 
seems  represented  by  a  famous  name.  The  effect  is 
a  curious  medley.  Davoust  and  Massena,  who 
wrought  in  many  a  battle-tragedy,  are  here,  and  so 
also  is  Rachel,  of  equal  renown  in  mimic  tragedy  on 
the  stage.  The  Abbe  Sicard  sleeps  here  —  the  first 
great  teacher  of  the  deaf  and  dumb  —  a  man  whose 
heart  went  out  to  every  unfortunate,  and  whose  life 
was  given  to  kindly  offices  in  their  service ;  and  not 
far  off,  in  repose  and  peace  at  last,  lies  Marshal 
Ney,  whose  stormy  spirit  knew  no  music  like  the 
bugle  call  to  arms.  The  man  who  originated  public 
gas  lighting,  and  that  other  benefactor  who  intro 
duced  the  cultivation  of  the  potato  and  thus  blessed 
millions  of  his  starving  countrymen,  lie  with  the 
Prince  of  Masserano,  and  with  exiled  queens  and 

13 


190  The  Innocents  Abroad 

princes  of  Further  India.  Gay-Lussac,  the  chemist; 
Laplace,  the  astronomer;  Larrey,  the  surgeon;  de 
Seze,  the  advocate,  are  here,  and  with  them  are 
Talma,  Bellini,  Rubini ;  de  Balzac,  Beaumarchais, 
Be>anger;  Moliere  and  Lafontaine,  and  scores  of 
other  men  whose  names  and  whose  worthy  labors 
are  as  familiar  in  the  remote  byplaces  of  civilization 
as  are  the  historic  deeds  of  the  kings  and  princes 
that  sleep  in  the  marble  vaults  of  St.  Denis. 

But  among  the  thousands  and  thousands  of  tombs 
in  Pere  la  Chaise,  there  is  one  that  no  man,  no 
woman,  no  youth  of  either  sex,  ever  passes  by  with 
out  stopping  to  examine.  Every  visitor  has  a  sort 
of  indistinct  idea  of  the  history  of  its  dead,  and 
comprehends  that  homage  is  due  there,  but  not  one 
in  twenty  thousand  clearly  remembers  the  story  of 
that  tomb  and  its  romantic  occupants.  This  is  the 
grave  of  Abelard  and  Heloise  —  a  grave  which  has 
been  more  revered,  more  widely  known,  more  writ 
ten  and  sung  about  and  wept  over,  for  seven  hun 
dred  years,  than  any  other  in  Christendom,  save 
only  that  of  the  Saviour.  All  visitors  linger  pen 
sively  about  it;  all  young  people  capture  and  carry 
away  keepsakes  and  mementoes  of  it;  all  Parisian 
youths  and  maidens  who  are  disappointed  in  love 
come  there  to  bail  out  when  they  are  full  of  tears ; 
yea,  many  stricken  lovers  make  pilgrimages  to  this 
shrine  from  distant  provinces  to  weep  and  wail  and 
41  grit"  their  teeth  over  their  heavy  sorrows,  and  to 
purchase  the  sympathies  of  the  chastened  spirits  of 


The  Innocents  Abroad  191 

that  tomb  with  offerings  of  immortelles  and  budding 
flowers. 

Go  when  you  will,  you  find  somebody  snuffling 
over  that  tomb.  Go  when  you  will,  you  find  it 
furnished  with  those  bouquets  and  immortelles.  Go 
when  you  will,  you  find  a  gravel  train  from  Marseilles 
arriving  to  supply  the  deficiencies  caused  by 
memento-cabbaging  vandals  whose  affections  have 
miscarried. 

Yet  who  really  knows  the  story  of  Abelard  and 
Heloise?  Precious  few  people.  The  names  are 
perfectly  familiar  to  everybody,  and  that  is  about 
all.  With  infinite  pains  I  have  acquired  a  knowledge 
of  that  history,  and  I  propose  to  narrate  it  here, 
partly  for  the  honest  information  of  the  public  and 
partly  to  show  that  public  that  they  have  been  wast 
ing  a  good  deal  of  marketable  sentiment  very  un 
necessarily. 

STORY  OF  ABELARD  AND   HELOISE. 

Heloise  was  born  seven  hundred  and  sixty-six 
years  ago.  She  may  have  had  parents.  There  is 
no  telling.  She  lived  with  her  uncle  Fulbert,  a 
canon  of  the  cathedral  of  Paris.  I  do  not  know 
what  a  canon  of  a  cathedral  is,  but  that  is  what  he 
was  He  was  nothing  more  than  a  sort  of  a  moun 
tain  howitzer,  likely,  because  they  had  no  heavy 
artillery  in  those  days.  Suffice  it,  then,  that  Heloise 
lived  with  her  uncle  the  howitzer,  and  was  happy* 
She  spent  the  most  of  her  childhood  in  the  convent  of 


192  The  Innocents  Abroad 

Ajgenteuil — never  heard  of  Argenteuil  before,  but 
suppose  there  was  really  such  a  place.  She  then 
returned  to  her  uncle,  the  old  gun,  or  son  of  a  gun, 
as  the  case  may  be,  and  he  taught  her  to  write  and 
speak  Latin,  which  was  the  language  of  literature 
and  polite  society  at  that  period. 

Just  at  this  time,  Pierre  Abelard,  who  had  already 
made  himself  widely  famous  as  a  rhetorician,  came 
to  found  a  school  of  rhetoric  in  Paris.  The  origi 
nality  of  his  principles,  his  eloquence,  and  his  great 
physical  strength  and  beauty  created  a  profound 
sensation.  He  saw  Heloise,  and  was  captivated  by 
her  blooming  youth,  her  beauty,  and  her  charming 
disposition.  He  wrote  to  her;  she  answered.  He 
wrote  again,  she  answered  again.  He  was  now  in 
love.  He  longed  to  know  her  —  to  speak  to  her  face 
to  face. 

His  school  was  near  Fulbert' s  house.  He  asked 
.Fulbert  to  allow  him  to  call.  The  good  old  swivel 
saw  here  a  rare  opportunity;  his  niece,  whom  he  so 
much  loved,  would  absorb  knowledge  from  this 
man,  and  it  would  not  cost  him  a  cent.  Such  was 
Fulbert —  penurious. 

Fulbert' s  first  name  is  not  mentioned  by  any 
author,  which  is  unfortunate.  However,  George  W. 
Fulbert  will  answer  for  him  as  well  as  any  other. 
We  will  let  him  go  at  that.  He  asked  Abelard  tc 
teach  her. 

Abelard  was  glad  enough  of  the  opportunity.  Ha 
came  often  and  stayed  long.  A  letter  of  his  shows 


The  Innocents  Abroad  193 

\n  its  very  first  sentence  that  he  came  under  that 
friendly  roof,  like  a  cold-hearted  villain  as  he  was, 
tvith  the  deliberate  intention  of  debauching  a  con 
fiding,  innocent  girl.  This  is  the  letter: 

"  I  cannot  cease  to  be  astonished  at  the  simplicity  of  Fulbert;  I  was 
as  much  surprised  as  if  he  had  placed  a  lamb  in  the  power  of  a  hungry 
wolf.  Heloise  and  I,  under  pretext  of  study,  gave  ourselves  up  wholly 
to  love,  and  the  solitude  that  love  seeks  our  studies  procured  for  us. 
Books  were  open  before  us,  but  we  spoke  oftener  of  love  than  philosophy, 
and  kisses  came  more  readily  from  our  lips  than  words." 

And  so,  exulting  over  an  honorable  confidence 
which  to  his  degraded  instinct  was  a  ludicrous 
41  simplicity,"  this  unmanly  Abelard  seduced  the 
niece  of  the  man  whose  guest  he  was.  Paris  found 
it  out.  Fulbert  was  told  of  it  —  told  often  —  but 
refused  to  believe  it.  He  could  not  comprehend 
how  a  man  could  be  so  depraved  as  to  use  the  sacred 
protection  and  security  of  hospitality  as  a  means  for 
the  commission  of  such  a  crime  as  that.  But  when 
he  heard  the  rowdies  in  the  streets  singing  the  love- 
songs  of  Abelard  to  Heloise,  the  case  was  too  plain 
—  love-songs  come  not  properly  within  the  teachings 
of  rhetoric  and  philosophy. 

He  drove  Abelard  from  his  house.  Abelard  re 
turned  secretly  and  carried  Heloise  away  to  Palais, 
in  Brittany,  his  native  country.  Here,  shortly  after 
ward,  she  bore  a  son,  who,  from  his  rare  beauty, 
was  surnamed  Astrolabe  —  William  G.  The  girl's 
flight  enraged  Fulbert,  and  he  longed  for  vengeance, 
but  feared  to  strike  lest  retaliation  visit  Heloise  — 
13* 


194  The  Innocents  Abroad 

for  he  still  loved  her  tenderly.  At  length  Abelard 
offered  to  marry  Heloise  —  but  on  a  shameful  con 
dition  :  that  the  marriage  should  be  kept  secret  from 
the  world,  to  the  end  that  (while  her  good  name 
remained  a  wreck,  as  before)  his  priestly  reputation 
might  be  kept  untarnished.  It  was  like  that  mis 
creant.  Fulbert  saw  his  opportunity  and  consented. 
He  would  see  the  parties  married,  and  then  violate 
the  confidence  of  the  man  who  had  taught  him  that 
trick ;  he  would  divulge  the  secret  and  so  remove 
somewhat  of  the  obloquy  that  attached  to  his  niece's 
fame.  But  the  niece  suspected  his  scheme.  She 
refused  the  marriage  at  first;  she  said  Fulbert  would 
betray  the  secret  to  save  her,  and  besides,  she  did 
not  wish  to  drag  down  a  lover  who  was  so  gifted,  so 
honored  by  the  world,  and  who  had  such  a  splendid 
career  before  him.  It  was  noble,  self-sacrificing 
love,  and  characteristic  of  the  pure-souled  Heloise, 
but  it  was  not  good  sense. 

But  she  was  overruled,  and  the  private  marriage 
took  place.  Now  for  Fulbert!  The  heart  so 
wounded  should  be  healed  at  last ;  the  proud  spirit 
so  tortured  should  find  rest  again;  the  humbled 
head  should  be  lifted  up  once  more.  He  proclaimed 
the  marriage  in  the  high  places  of  the  city,  and  re 
joiced  that  dishonor  had  departed  from  his  house. 
But  lo !  Abelard  denied  the  marriage  I  Heloise 
denied  it !  The  people,  knowing  the  former  circum 
stances,  might  have  believed  Fulbert,  had  only 
Abelard  denied  it,  but  when  the  person  chiefly  inter- 


The  Innocents  Abroad  195 

ested  —  the   girl   herself  —  denied  it,   they  laughed 
despairing  Fulbert  to  scorn. 

The  poor  canon  of  the  cathedral  of  Paris  was 
spiked  again.  The  last  hope  of  repairing  the  wrong 
that  had  been  done  his  house  was  gone.  What 
next?  Human  nature  suggested  revenge.  He  com 
passed  it.  The  historian  says : 

"  Ruffians,  hired  by  Fulbert,  fell  upon  Abelard  by  night,  and  in- 
flicted  upon  him  a  terrible  and  nameless  mutilation." 

I  am  seeking  the  last  resting-place  of  those  "  ruffi 
ans."  When  I  find  it  I  shall  shed  some  tears  on  it, 
and  stack  up  some  bouquets  and  immortelles,  and 
cart  away  from  it  some  gravel  whereby  to  remember 
that  howsoever  blotted  by  crime  their  lives  may  have 
been,  these  ruffians  did  one  just  deed,  at  any  rate, 
albeit  it  was  not  warranted  by  the  strict  letter  of  the 
law. 

Heloise  entered  a  convent  and  gave  good-bye  to 
the  world  and  its  pleasures  for  all  time.  For  twelve 
years  she  never  heard  of  Abelard  —  never  even  heard 
his  name  mentioned.  She  had  become  prioress  of 
Argenteuil,  and  led  a  life  of  complete  seclusion. 
She  happened  one  day  to  see  a  letter  written  by  him, 
in  which  he  narrated  his  own  history.  She  cried 
over  it,  and  wrote  him.  He  answered,  addressing 
her  as  his**  sister  in  Christ."  They  continued  to 
correspond,  she  in  the  unweighed  language  of  un 
wavering  affection,  he  in  the  chilly  phraseology  of 
the  polished  rhetorician.  She  poured  out  her  heart 

M» 


196  The  Innocents  Abroad 

in  passionate,  disjointed  sentences;  he  replied  with 
finished  essays,  divided  deliberately  into  heads  and 
sub-heads,  premises  and  argument.  She  showered 
upon  him  the  tenderest  epithets  that  love  could 
devise,  he  addressed  her  from  the  North  Pole  of  his 
frozen  heart  as  the  "Spouse  of  Christ!"  The 
abandoned  villain ! 

On  account  of  her  too  easy  government  of  her 
nuns,  some  disreputable  irregularities  were  discov 
ered  among  them,  and  the  Abbot  of  St.  Denis  broke 
up  her  establishment.  Abelard  was  the  official  head 
of  the  monastery  of  St.  Gildas  de  Ruys,  at  that 
time,  and  when  he  heard  of  her  homeless  condition 
a  sentiment  of  pity  was  aroused  in  his  breast  (it  is  a 
wonder  the  unfamiliar  emotion  did  not  blow  his 
head  off),  and  he  placed  her  and  her  troop  in  the 
little  oratory  of  the  Paraclete,  a  religious  establish 
ment  which  he  had  founded.  She  had  many  priva 
tions  and  sufferings  to  undergo  at  first,  but  her  worth 
and  her  gentle  disposition  won  influential  friends  for 
her,  and  she  built  up  a  wealthy  and  flourishing 
nunnery.  She  became  a  great  favorite  with  the 
heads  of  the  church,  and  also  the  people,  though 
she  seldom  appeared  in  public.  She  rapidly  ad 
vanced  in  esteem,  in  good  report  and  in  usefulness, 
and  Abelard  as  rapidly  lost  ground.  The  Pope  so 
honored  her  that  he  made  her  the  head  of  her  order. 
Abelard,  a  man  of  splendid  talents,  and  ranking  as 
the  first  debater  of  his  time,  became  timid,  irreso 
lute,  and  distrustful  of  his  powers.  He  only  needed 


The  Innocents  Abroad  197 

a  great  misfortune  to  topple  him  from  the  high  posi 
tion  he  held  in  the  world  of  intellectual  excellence, 
and  it  came.  Urged  by  kings  and  princes  to  meet 
the  subtle  St.  Bernard  in  debate  and  crush  him,  he 
stood  up  in  the  presence  of  a  royal  and  illustrious 
assemblage,  and  when  his  antagonist  had  finished  he 
looked  about  him,  and  stammered  a  commencement; 
but  his  courage  failed  him,  the  cunning  of  his  tongue 
was  gone;  with  his  speech  unspoken,  he  trembled 
and  sat  down,  a  disgraced  and  vanquished  champion. 

He  died  a  nobody,  and  was  buried  at  Cluny, 
A.  D.  1144.  They  removed  his  body  to  the  Para 
clete  afterward,  and  when  Heloise  died,  twenty  years 
later,  they  buried  her  with  him,  in  accordance  with 
her  last  wish.  He  died  at  the  ripe  age  of  64,  and 
she  at  63.  After  the  bodies  had  remained  entombed 
three  hundred  years,  they  were  removed  once  more. 
They  were  removed  again  in  1800,  and  finally, 
seventeen  years  afterward,  they  were  taken  up  and 
transferred  to  Pere  la  Chaise,  where  they  will  remain 
in  peace  and  quiet  until  it  comes  time  for  them  to 
get  up  and  move  again. 

History  is  silent  concerning  the  last  acts  of  the 
mountain  howitzer.  Let  the  world  say  what  it  will 
about  him,  7,  at  least,  shall  always  respect  the 
memory  and  sorrow  for  the  abused  trust,  and  the 
broken  heart,  and  the  troubled  spirit  of  the  old 
smooth-bore.  Rest  and  repose  be  his ! 

Such  is  the  story  of  Abelard  and  Heloise.  Such 
is  the  history  that  Lamartine  has  shed  such  cataracts 


198  The  Innocents  Abroad 

of  tears  over.  But  that  man  never  could  come 
within  the  influence  of  a  subject  in  the  least  pathetic 
without  overflowing  his  banks.  He  ought  to  be 
dammed  —  or  leveed,  I  should  more  properly  say. 
Such  is  the  history — not  as  it  is  usually  told,  but  as 
it  is  when  stripped  of  the  nauseous  sentimentality 
that  would  enshrine  for  our  loving  worship  a 
dastardly  seducer  like  Pierre  Abelard.  I  have  not 
a  word  to  say  against  the  misused,  faithful  girl,  and 
would  not  withhold  from  her  grave  a  single  one  of 
those  simple  tributes  which  blighted  youths  and 
maidens  offer  to  her  memory,  but  I  am  sorry  enough 
that  I  have  not  time  and  opportunity  to  write  four 
or  five  volumes  of  my  opinion  of  her  friend  the 
founder  of  the  Parachute,  or  the  Paraclete,  or  what 
ever  it  was. 

The  tons  of  sentiment  I  have  wasted  on  that 
unprincipled  humbug,  in  rny  ignorance !  I  shall 
throttle  down  my  emotions  hereafter,  about  this  sort 
of  people,  until  I  have  read  them  up  and  know 
whether  they  are  entitled  to  any  tearful  attentions  or 
not.  I  wish  I  had  my  immortelles  back,  now,  and 
that  bunch  of  radishes. 

In  Paris  we  often  saw  in  shop  windows  the  sign, 
"English  Spoken  Here,"  just  as  one  sees  in  the 
windows  at  home  the  sign,  *'  Id  on  parle  fran$aisc" 
We  always  invaded  these  places  at  once  —  and  in 
variably  received  the  information,  framed  in  faultless 
French,  that  the  clerk  who  did  the  English  for  the 
establishment  had  just  gone  to  dinner  and  would  be 


The  Innocents  Abroad  199 

back  in  an  hour  —  would  Monsieur  buy  something? 
We  wondered  why  those  parties  happened  to  take 
their  dinners  at  such  erratic  and  extraordinary 
hours,  for  we  never  called  at  a  time  when  an  exem 
plary  Christian  would  be  in  the  least  likely  to  be 
abroad  on  such  an  errand.  The  truth  was,  it  was  a 
base  fraud  —  a  snare  to  trap  the  unwary  —  chaff  to 
catch  fledglings  with.  They  had  no  English- 
murdering  clerk.  They  trusted  to  the  sign  to  in 
veigle  foreigners  into  their  lairs,  and  trusted  to  their 
own  blandishments  to  keep  them  there  till  they 
bought  something. 

We  ferreted  out  another  French  imposition  —  a 
frequent  sign  to  this  effect:  "ALL  MANNER  OP 
AMERICAN  DRINKS  ARTISTICALLY  PREPARED 
HERE."  We  procured  the  services  of  a  gentleman 
experienced  in  the  nomenclature  of  the  American 
bar,  and  moved  upon  the  works  of  one  of  these  im 
postors.  A  bowing,  aproned  Frenchman  skipped 
forward  and  said : 

"  Que  voulez  les  messieurs?"  I  do  not  know 
what "  Que  voulez  les  messieurs"  means,  but  such 
was  his  remark. 

Our  General  said,  "We  will  take  a  whisky- 
straight." 

[A  stare  from  the  Frenchman.] 

"  Well,  if  you  don't  know  what  that  is,  give  us  a 
champagne  cock-tail." 

[A  stare  and  a  shrug.] 

"  Well,  then,  give  us  a  sherry  cobbler." 


200  The  Innocents  Abroad 

The  Frenchman  was  checkmated.  This  was  all 
Greek  to  him. 

'*  Give  us  a  brandy  smash !" 

The  Frenchman  began  to  back  away,  suspicious 
of  the  ominous  vigor  of  the  last  order  —  began  to 
back  away,  shrugging  his  shoulders  and  spreading 
his  hands  apologetically. 

The  General  followed  him  up  and  gained  a  com 
plete  victory.  The  uneducated  foreigner  could  not 
even  furnish  a  Santa  Cruz  Punch,  an  Eye-Opener,  a 
Stone-Fence,  or  an  Earthquake.  It  was  plain  that 
he  was  a  wicked  impostor. 

An  acquaintance  of  mine  said,  the  other  day,  that 
he  was  doubtless  the  only  American  visitor  to  the  Ex 
position  who  had  had  the  high  honor  of  being  escorted 
by  the  Emperor's  body-guard.  I  said  with  unob 
trusive  frankness  that  I  was  astonished  that  such  a 
long-legged,  lantern-jawed,  unprepossessing  looking 
specter  as  he  should  be  singled  out  for  a  distinction 
(ike  that,  and  asked  how  it  came  about.  He  said 
he  had  attended  a  great  military  review  in  the 
Champ  de  Mars,  some  time  ago,  and  while  the 
multitude  about  him  was  growing  thicker  and  thicker 
every  moment,  he  observed  an  open  space  inside 
the  railing.  He  left  his  carriage  and  went  into  it. 
He  was  the  only  person  there,  and  so  he  had  plenty 
of  room,  and  the  situation  being  central,  he  could 
see  all  the  preparations  going  on  about  the  field. 
By  and  by  there  was  a  sound  of  music,  and  soon 
the  Emperor  of  the  French  and  the  Emperor  of 


The  Innocents  Abroad  201 

Austria,  escorted  by  the  famous  Cent  Gardes,  en 
tered  the  inclosure.  They  seemed  not  to  observe 
him,  but  directly,  in  response  to  a  sign  from  the 
commander  of  the  Guard,  a  young  lieutenant  came 
toward  him  with  a  file  of  his  men  following,  halted, 
raised  his  hand  and  gave  the  military  salute,  and 
then  said  in  a  low  voice  that  he  was  sorry  to  have  to 
disturb  a  stranger  and  a  gentleman,  but  the  place 
was  sacred  to  royalty.  Then  this  New  Jersey  phan 
tom  rose  up  and  bowed  and  begged  pardon,  then 
with  the  officer  beside  him,  the  file  of  men  marching 
behind  him,  and  with  every  mark  of  respect,  he  wag 
escorted  to  his  carriage  by  the  imperial  Cent  Gardes  ! 
The  officer  saluted  again  and  fell  back,  the  New 
Jersey  sprite  bowed  in  return  and  had  presence  of 
mind  enough  to  pretend  that  he  had  simply  called 
on  a  matter  of  private  business  with  those  emperors, 
and  so  waved  them  an  adieu,  and  drove  from  the 
field! 

Imagine  a  poor  Frenchman  ignorantly  intruding 
upon  a  public  rostrum  sacred  to  some  sixpenny 
dignitary  in  America.  The  police  would  scare  him 
to  death,  first,  with  a  storm  of  their  elegant  blas 
phemy,  and  then  pull  him  to  pieces  getting  him 
away  from  there.  We  are  measurably  superior  to 
the  French  in  some  things,  but  they  are  immeasur 
ably  our  betters  in  others. 

Enough  of  Paris  for  the  present.  We  have  done 
our  whole  duty  by  it.  We  have  seen  the  Tuileries, 
the  Napoleon  Column,  the  Madeleine,  that  wonder 


202  The  Innocents  Abroad 

of  wonders  the  tomb  of  Napoleon,  all  the  great 
churches  and  museums,  libraries,  imperial  palaces, 
and  sculpture  and  picture  galleries,  the  Pantheon, 
Jardin  des  Planies,  the  opera,  the  circus,  the  legis 
lative  body,  the  billiard-rooms,  the  barbers,  the 
grisette  s  — 

Ah,  the  grisettes  !  I  had  almost  forgotten.  They 
are  another  romantic  fraud.  They  were  (if  you  let 
the  books  of  travel  tell  it)  always  so  beautiful  —  so 
neat  and  trim,  so  graceful  —  so  natve  and  trusting  — 
so  gentle,  so  winning  —  so  faithful  to  their  shop 
duties,  so  irresistible  to  buyers  in  their  prattling 
importunity — so  devoted  to  their  poverty-stricken 
students  of  the  Latin  Quarter — so  light  hearted  and 
happy  on  their  Sunday  picnics  in  the  suburbs  —  and 
oh,  so  charmingly,  so  delightfully  immoral ! 

Stuff !  For  three  or  four  days  I  was  constantly 
saying: 

**  Quick,  Ferguson !  is  that  a  grisette  /" 

And  he  always  said  "No." 

He  comprehended,  at  last,  that  I  wanted  to  see  a 
grisette.  Then  he  showed  me  dozens  of  them. 
They  were  like  nearly  all  the  Frenchwomen  I  ever 
saw  —  homely.  They  had  large  hands,  large  feet, 
large  mouths;  they  had  pug  noses  as  a  general 
thing,  and  moustaches  that  not  even  good  breeding 
could  overlook;  they  combed  their  hair  straight 
back  without  parting;  they  were  ill-shaped,  they 
were  not  winning,  they  were  not  graceful ;  I  knew 
by  their  looks  that  they  ate  garlic  and  onions ;  and 


The  Innocents  Abroad  203 

lastly  and  finally,  to  my  thinking  it  would  be  base 
flattery  to  call  them  immoral. 

Aroint  thee,  wench !  I  sorrow  for  the  vagabond 
student  of  the  Latin  Quarter  now,  even  more  than 
formerly  I  envied  him.  Thus  topples  to  earth 
another  idol  of  my  Infancy. 

We  have  seen  everything,  and  to-morrow  we  go 
to  Versailles.  We  shall  see  Paris  only  for  a  little 
while  as  we  come  back  to  take  up  our  line  of  march 
for  the  ship,  and  so  I  may  as  well  bid  the  beautiful 
city  a  regretful  farewell.  We  shall  travel  many 
thousands  of  miles  after  we  leave  here,  and  visit 
many  great  cities,  but  we  shall  find  none  so  enchant 
ing  as  this. 

Some  of  our  party  have  gone  to  England,  intend 
ing  to  take  a  roundabout  course  and  rejoin  the  vessel 
at  Leghorn  or  Naples,  several  weeks  hence.  We 
came  near  going  to  Geneva,  but  have  concluded  to 
return  to  Marseilles  and  go  up  through  Italy  from 
Genoa. 

I  will  conclude  this  chapter  with  a  remark  that  I 
am  sincerely  proud  to  be  able  to  make  —  and  glad, 
as  well,  that  my  comrades  cordially  indorse  it,  to 
wit :  by  far  the  handsomest  women  we  have  seen  in 
France  were  born  and  reared  in  America. 

I  feel,  now,  like  a  man  who  has  redeemed  a  failing 
reputation  and  shed  luster  upon  a  dimmed  escutch 
eon,  by  a  single  just  deed  done  at  the  eleventh  hour. 

Let  the  curtain  fall,  to  slow  music. 


CHAPTER   XVI. 

WERSAILLES!  It  is  wonderfully  beautiful !  You 
V  gaze,  and  stare,  and  try  to  understand  that  it 
is  real,  that  it  is  on  the  earth,  that  it  is  not  the 
Garden  of  Eden  —  but  your  brain  grows  giddy, 
stupefied  by  the  world  of  beauty  around  you,  and 
you  half  believe  you  are  the  dupe  of  an  exquisite 
dream.  The  scene  thrills  one  like  military  music ! 
A  noble  palace,  stretching  its  ornamented  front 
block  upon  block  away,  till  it  seemed  that  it  would 
never  end ;  a  grand  promenade  before  it,  whereon 
the  armies  of  an  empire  might  parade ;  all  about  it 
rainbows  of  flowers,  and  colossal  statues  that  were 
almost  numberless,  and  yet  seemed  only  scattered 
over  the  ample  space ;  broad  flights  of  stone  steps 
leading  down  from  the  promenade  to  lower  grounds 
of  the  park  —  stairways  that  whole  regiments  might 
stand  to  arms  upon  and  have  room  to  spare;  vast 
fountains  whose  great  bronze  effigies  discharged 
rivers  of  sparkling  water  into  the  air  and  mingled  a 
hundred  curving  jets  together  in  forms  of  matchless 
beauty;  wide  grass-carpeted  avenues  that  branched 
hither  and  thither  in  every  direction  and  wandered 

(BO*) 


The  Innocents  Abroad  20J 

to  seemingly  interminable  distances,  walled  all  the 
way  on  either  side  with  compact  ranks  of  leafy  trees 
whose  branches  met  above  and  formed  arches  as 
faultless  and  as  symmetrical  as  ever  were  carved  in 
stone ;  and  here  and  there  were  glimpses  of  sylvan 
lakes  with  miniature  ships  glassed  in  their  surfaces. 
And  everywhere  —  on  the  palace  steps,  and  the  great 
promenade,  around  the  fountains,  among  the  trees, 
and  far  under  the  arches  of  the  endless  avenues, 
hundreds  and  hundreds  of  people  in  gay  costumes 
walked  or  ran  or  danced,  and  gave  to  the  fairy 
picture  the  life  and  animation  which  was  all  of  per 
fection  it  could  have  lacked. 

It  was  worth  a  pilgrimage  to  see.  Everything  is 
on  so  gigantic  a  scale.  Nothing  is  small  —  nothing 
is  cheap.  The  statues  are  all  large ;  the  palace  is 
grand;  the  park  covers  a  fair-sized  county;  the 
avenues  are  interminable.  All  the  distances  and  all 
the  dimensions  about  Versailles  are  vast.  I  used  to 
think  the  pictures  exaggerated  these  distances  and 
these  dimensions  beyond  all  reason,  and  that  they 
made  Versailles  more  beautiful  than  it  was  possible 
for  any  place  in  the  world  to  be.  I  know  now  that 
the  pictures  never  came  up  to  the  subject  in  any  re 
spect,  and  that  no  painter  could  represent  Versailles 
on  canvas  as  beautiful  as  it  is  in  reality.  I  used  to 
abuse  Louis  XIV  for  spending  two  hundred  millions 
of  dollars  in  creating  this  marvelous  park,  when 
bread  was  so  scarce  with  some  of  his  subjects ;  but 
I  have  forgiven  him  now.  He  took  a  tract  of  land 


206  The  Innocents  Abroad 

sixty  miles  in  circumference  and  set  to  worlc  to 
make  this  park  and  build  this  palace  and  a  road  to 
it  from  Paris.  He  kept  36,000  men  employed  daily 
on  it,  and  the  labor  was  so  unhealthy  that  they  used 
to  die  and  be  hauled  off  by  cart-loads  every  night. 
The  wife  of  a  nobleman  of  the  time  speaks  of  this  as 
an  ''''inconvenience"  but  nafvely  remarks  that  "it 
does  not  seem  worthy  of  attention  in  the  happy 
state  of  tranquillity  we  now  enjoy." 

I  always  thought  ill  of  people  at  home,  who 
trimmed  their  shrubbery  into  pyramids  and  squares 
and  spires  and  all  manner  of  unnatural  shapes,  and 
when  I  saw  the  same  thing  being  practiced  in  this 
great  park  I  began  to  feel  dissatisfied.  But  I  soon 
saw  the  idea  of  the  thing  and  the  wisdom  of  it. 
They  seek  the  general  effect.  We  distort  a  dozen 
sickly  trees  into  unaccustomed  shapes  in  a  little 
yard  no  bigger  than  a  dining-room,  and  then  surely 
they  look  absurd  enough.  But  here  they  take  two 
hundred  thousand  tall  forest  trees  and  set  them  in  a 
double  row ;  allow  no  sign  of  leaf  or  branch  to  grow 
on  the  trunk  lower  down  than  six  feet  above  the 
ground ;  from  that  point  the  boughs  begin  to  pro 
ject,  and  very  gradually  they  extend  outward  further 
and  further  till  they  meet  overhead,  and  a  faultless 
tunnel  of  foliage  is  formed.  The  arch  is  mathe 
matically  precise.  The  effect  is  then  very  fine. 
They  make  trees  take  fifty  different  shapes,  and  so 
these  quaint  effects  are  infinitely  varied  and  pictur 
esque.  The  trees  in  no  two  avenues  are  shaped 


The  Innocents  Abroad  207 

alike,  and  consequently  the  eye  is  not  fatigued  with 
anything  in  the  nature  of  monotonous  uniformity. 
I  will  drop  this  subject  now,  leaving  it  to  others  to 
determine  how  these  people  manage  to  make  endless 
ranks  of  lofty  forest  trees  grow  to  just  a  certain 
thickness  of  trunk  (say  a  foot  and  two-thirds)  ;  how 
they  make  them  spring  to  precisely  the  same  height 
for  miles;  how  they  make  them  grow  so  close 
together ;  how  they  compel  one  huge  limb  to  spring 
from  the  same  identical  spot  on  each  tree  and  form 
the  main  sweep  of  the  arch ;  and  how  all  these  things 
are  kept  exactly  in  the  same  condition,  and  in  the 
same  exquisite  shapeliness  and  symmetry  month 
after  month  and  year  after  year  —  for  I  have  tried  to 
reason  out  the  problem,  and  have  failed. 

We  walked  through  the  great  hall  of  sculpture 
and  the  one  hundred  and  fifty  galleries  of  paintings 
in  the  palace  of  Versailles,  and  felt  that  to  be  in 
such  a  place  was  useless  unless  one  had  a  whole  year 
at  his  disposal.  These  pictures  are  all  battle-scenes, 
and  only  one  solitary  little  canvas  among  them  all 
treats  of  anything  but  great  French  victories.  We 
wandered,  also,  through  the  Grand  Trianon  and  the 
Petit  Trianon,  those  monuments  of  royal  prodigality, 
and  with  histories  so  mournful  —  filled,  as  it  is, 
with  souvenirs  of  Napoleon  the  First,  and  three  dead 
kings  and  as  many  queens.  In  one  sumptuous  bed 
they  had  all  slept  in  succession,  but  no  one  occupies 
it  now.  In  a  large  dining-room  stood  the  table  at 
which  Louis  XIV  and  his  mistress,  Madame  Main- 


208  The  Innocents  Abroad 

tenon,  and  after  them  Louis  XV,  and  Pompadour, 
had  sat  at  their  meals  naked  and  unattended  —  for 
the  table  stood  upon  a  trap-door,  which  descended 
with  it  to  regions  below  when  it  was  necessary  to 
replenish  its  dishes.  In  a  room  of  the  Petit  Trianon 
stood  the  furniture,  just  as  poor  Marie  Antoinette 
left  it  when  the  mob  came  and  dragged  her  and  the 
King  to  Paris,  never  to  return.  Near  at  hand,  in 
the  stables,  were  prodigious  carriages  that  showed 
no  color  but  gold  —  carriages  used  by  former  kings 
of  France  on  state  occasions,  and  never  used  now 
save  when  a  kingly  head  is  to  be  crowned,  or  an 
imperial  infant  christened.  And  with  them  were 
some  curious  sleighs,  whose  bodies  were  shaped 
like  lions,  swans,  tigers,  etc. —  vehicles  that  had  once 
been  handsome  with  pictured  designs  and  fine  work 
manship,  but  were  dusty  and  decaying  now.  They 
had  their  history.  When  Louis  XIV  had  finished 
the  Grand  Trianon,  he  told  Maintenon  he  had 
created  a  Paradise  for  her,  and  asked  if  she  could 
think  of  anything  now  to  wish  for.  He  said  he 
wished  the  Trianon  to  be  perfection  —  nothing  less. 
She  said  she  could  think  of  but  one  thing  —  it  was 
summer,  and  it  was  balmy  France  —  yet  she  would  like 
well  to  sleigh-ride  in  the  leafy  avenues  of  Versailles ! 
The  next  morning  found  miles  and  miles  of  grassy 
avenues  spread  thick  with  snowy  salt  and  sugar,  and 
a  procession  of  those  quaint  sleighs  waiting  to  re 
ceive  the  chief  concubine  of  the  gayest  and  most 
unprincipled  court  that  France  has  ever  seen  I 


The  Innocents  Abroad  209 

From  sumptuous  Versailles,  with  its  palaces,  its 
statues,  its  gardens  and  its  fountains,  we  journeyed 
back  to  Paris  and  sought  its  antipodes  —  the  Fau 
bourg  St.  Antoine.  Little,  narrow  streets;  dirty 
children  blockading  them ;  greasy,  slovenly  women 
capturing  and  spanking  them;  filthy  dens  on  first 
floors,  with  rag  stores  ii  them  (the  heaviest  business 
in  the  Faubourg  is  the  chiffonier's) ;  other  filthy 
dens  where  whole  suits  of  second  and  third-hand 
clothing  are  sold  at  prices  that  would  ruin  any  pro 
prietor  who  did  not  steal  his  stock ;  still  other  filthy 
dens  where  they  sold  groceries  —  sold  them  by  the 
half-pennyworth  —  five  dollars  would  buy  the  man 
out,  good-will  and  all.  Up  these  little  crooked 
streets  they  will  murder  a  man  for  seven  dollars  and 
dump  the  body  in  the  Seine.  And  up  some  other 
of  these  streets  —  most  of  them,  I  should  say  —  live 
lorettes. 

All  through  this  Faubourg  St.  Antoine,  misery, 
poverty,  vice,  and  crime  go  hand  in  hand,  and  the 
evidences  of  it  stare  one  in  the  face  from  every  side. 
Here  the  people  live  who  begin  the  revolutions. 
Whenever  there  is  anything  of  that  kind  to  be  done, 
they  are  always  ready.  They  take  as  much  genuine 
pleasure  in  building  a  barricade  as  they  do  in  cutting 
a  throat  or  shoving  a  friend  into  the  Seine.  It  is 
these  savage-looking  ruffians  who  storm  the  splen 
did  halls  of  the  Tuileries,  occasionally,  and  swarm 
into  Versailles  when  a  king  is  to  be  called  to 
account. 
U. 


210  The  Innocents  Abroad 

But  they  will  build  no  more  barricades,  they  wifl 
break  no  more  soldiers'  heads  with  paving-stones. 
Louis  Napoleon  has  taken  care  of  all  that.  He  is 
annihilating  the  crooked  streets,  and  building  in  their 
stead  noble  boulevards  as  straight  as  an  arrow  — 
avenues  which  a  cannon-ball  could  traverse  from  end 
to  end  without  meeting  an  obstruction  more  irre 
sistible  than  the  flesh  and  bones  of  men  —  boule 
vards  whose  stately  edifices  will  never  afford  refuges 
and  plotting-places  for  starving,  discontented  revolu 
tion-breeders.  Five  of  these  great  thoroughfares 
radiate  from  one  ample  center  — a  center  which  is 
exceedingly  well  adapted  to  the  accommodation  of 
heavy  artillery.  The  mobs  used  to  riot  there,  but 
they  must  seek  another  rallying-place  in  future. 
And  this  ingenious  Napoleon  paves  the  streets  of  his 
great  cities  with  a  smooth,  compact  composition  of 
asphaltum  and  sand.  No  more  barricades  of  flag 
stones — -no  more  assaulting  his  Majesty's  troops 
with  cobbles.  I  cannot  feel  friendly  toward  my 
quondam  fellow- American,  Napoleon  III,  espe 
cially  at  this  time,*  when  in  fancy  I  see  his  credulous 
victim,  Maximilian,  lying  stark  and  stiff  in  Mexico, 
and  his  maniac  widow  watching  eagerly  from  her 
French  asylum  for  the  form  that  will  never  come  — 
but  I  do  admire  his  nerve,  his  calm  self-reliance,  his 
shrewd  good  sense. 

•July,  1867. 


CHAPTER   XVII. 

WE  had  a  pleasant  journey  of  it  seaward  again, 
We  found  that  for  the  three  past  nights  our 
ship  had  been  in  a  state  of  war.  The  first  night  the 
sailors  of  a  British  ship,  being  happy  with  grog, 
came  down  on  the  pier  and  challenged  our  sailors  to 
a  free  fight.  They  accepted  with  alacrity,  repaired 
to  the  pier  and  gained  —  their  share  of  a  drawn 
battle.  Several  bruised  and  bloody  members  of 
both  parties  were  carried  off  by  the  police,  and  im 
prisoned  until  the  following  morning.  The  next 
night  the  British  boys  came  again  to  renew  the  fight, 
but  our  men  had  had  strict  orders  to  remain  on 
board  and  out  of  sight.  They  did  so,  and  the 
besieging  party  grew  noisy,  and  more  and  more 
abusive  as  the  fact  became  apparent  (to  them)  that 
our  men  were  afraid  to  come  out.  They  went  away, 
finally,  with  a  closing  burst  of  ridicule  and  offensive 
epithets.  The  third  night  they  came  again,  and  were 
more  obstreperous  than  ever.  They  swaggered  up 
and  down  the  almost  deserted  pier,  and  hurled 
curses,  obscenity,  and  stinging  sarcasms  at  our  crew. 
It  was  more  than  human  nature  could  bear.  The 
N*  (an) 


212  The  Innocents  Abroad 

executive  officer  ordered  our  men  ashore  —  with 
instructions  not  to  fight.  They  charged  the  British 
and  gained  a  brilliant  victory.  I  probably  would 
not  have  mentioned  this  war  had  it  ended  differently. 
But  I  travel  to  learn,  and  I  still  remember  that  they 
picture  no  French  defeats  in  the  battle-galleries  of 
Versailles. 

It  was  like  home  to  us  to  step  on  board  the  com 
fortable  ship  again,  and  smoke  and  lounge  about  her 
breezy  decks.  And  yet  it  was  not  altogether  like 
home,  either,  because  so  many  members  of  the 
family  were  away.  We  missed  some  pleasant  faces 
which  we  would  rather  have  found  at  dinner,  and  at 
night  there  were  gaps  in  the  euchre-parties  which 
could  not  be  satisfactorily  filled.  4I  Moult."  was  in 
England,  Jack  in  Switzerland,  Charley  in  Spain. 
Blucher  was  gone,  none  could  tell  where.  But  we 
were  at  sea  again,  and  we  had  the  stars  and  the 
ocean  to  look  at,  and  plenty  of  room  to  meditate  in. 

In  due  time  the  shores  of  Italy  were  sighted,  and 
as  we  stood  gazing  from  the  decks  early  in  the  bright 
summer  morning,  the  stately  city  of  Genoa  rose  up 
out  of  the  sea  and  flung  back  the  sunlight  from  her 
Jiundred  palaces. 

Here  we  rest,  for  the  present  —  or  rather,  here 
we  have  been  trying  to  rest,  for  some  little  time,  but 
we  run  about  too  much  to  accomplish  a  great  deal 
in  that  line. 

I  would  like  to  remain  here.  I  had  rather  not  go 
any  further.  There  may  be  prettier  women  in 


The  Innocents  Abroad  213 

Europe,  but  I  doubt  it.  The  population  of  Genoa 
is  120,000;  two-thirds  of  these  are  women,  I  think, 
and  at  least  two-thirds  of  the  women  are  beautiful. 
They  are  as  dressy  and  as  tasteful  and  as  graceful 
as  they  could  possibly  be  without  being  angels. 
However,  angels  are  not  very  dressy,  I  believe.  At 
least  the  angels  in  pictures  are  not  —  they  wear 
nothing  but  wings.  But  these  Genoese  women  do 
look  so  charming.  Most  of  the  young  demoiselles 
are  robed  in  a  cloud  of  white  from  head  to  foot, 
though  many  trick  themselves  out  more  elaborately. 
Nine-tenths  of  them  wear  nothing  on  their  heads  but 
a  filmy  sort  of  veil,  which  falls  down  their  backs  like 
a  white  mist.  They  are  very  fair,  and  many  of 
them  have  blue  eyes,  but  black  and  dreamy  dark 
brown  ones  are  met  with  oftenest. 

The  ladies  and  gentlemen  of  Genoa  have  a 
pleasant  fashion  of  promenading  in  a  large  park  on 
the  top  of  a  hill  in  the  center  of  the  city,  from  six 
till  nine  in  the  evening,  and  then  eating  ices  in  a 
neighboring  garden  an  hour  or  two  longer.  We 
went  to  the  park  on  Sunday  evening.  Two  thou 
sand  persons  were  present,  chiefly  young  ladies  and 
gentlemen.  The  gentlemen  were  dressed  in  the  very 
latest  Paris  fashions,  and  the  robes  of  the  ladies 
glinted  among  the  trees  like  so  many  snow-flakes. 
The  multitude  moved  round  and  round  the  park  in 
a  great  procession.  The  bands  played,  and  so  did 
the  fountains ;  the  moon  and  the  gas-lamps  lit  up 
the  scene,  and  altogether  it  was  a  brilliant  and  an 


214  The  Innocents  Abroad 

animated  picture.  I  scanned  every  female  face  that 
passed,  and  it  seemed  to  me  that  all  were  handsome. 
I  never  saw  such  a  freshet  of  loveliness  before.  I  do 
not  see  how  a  man  of  only  ordinary  decision  of  char 
acter  could  marry  here,  because,  before  he  could  get 
his  mind  made  up  he  would  fall  in  love  with  some 
body  else. 

Never  smoke  any  Italian  tobacco.  Never  do  it 
on  any  account.  It  makes  me  shudder  to  think 
what  it  must  be  made  of.  You  cannot  throw  an  old 
cigar  "stub"  down  anywhere,  but  some  vagabond 
will  pounce  upon  it  on  the  instant.  I  like  to  smoke 
a  good  deal,  but  it  wounds  my  sensibilities  to  see 
one  of  these  stub-hunters  watching  me  out  of  the 
corners  of  his  hungry  eyes  and  calculating  how  long 
my  cigar  will  be  likely  to  last.  It  reminded  me  too 
painfully  of  that  San  Francisco  undertaker  who  used 
to  go  to  sick  beds  with  his  watch  in  his  hand  and 
time  the  corpse.  One  of  these  stub-hunters  followed 
us  all  over  the  park  last  night,  and  we  never  had  a 
smoke  that  was  worth  anything.  We  were  always 
moved  to  appease  him  with  the  stub  before  the  cigar 
was  half  gone,  because  he  looked  so  viciously  anxious. 
He  regarded  us  as  his  own  legitimate  prey,  by  right 
of  discovery,  I  think,  because  he  drove  off  several 
other  professionals  who  wanted  to  take  stock  in  us. 

Now,  they  surely  must  chew  up  those  old  stubs, 
and  dry  and  sell  them  for  smoking  tobacco.  There 
fore,  give  your  custom  to  other  than  Italian  brands 
of  the  article. 


The  Innocents  Abroad  215 

"The  Superb"  and  the  "  City  of  Palaces  "are 
names  which  Genoa  has  held  for  centuries.  She  is 
full  of  palaces,  certainly,  and  the  palaces  are  sump 
tuous  inside,  but  they  are  very  rusty  without,  and 
make  no  pretensions  to  architectural  magnificence. 
44  Genoa,  the  Superb,"  would  be  a  felicitous  title  if 
it  referred  to  the  women. 

We  have  visited  several  of  the  palaces  —  immense 
thick- walled  piles,  with  great  stone  staircases,  tessel 
lated  marble  pavements  on  the  floors  (sometimes 
they  make  a  mosaic  work,  of  intricate  designs, 
wrought  in  pebbles,  or  little  fragments  of  marble 
laid  in  cement) ,  and  grand  salons  hung  with  pictures 
by  Rubens,  Guido,  Titian,  Paul  Veronese,  and  so 
on,  and  portraits  of  heads  of  the  family,  in  plumed 
helmets  and  gallant  coats  of  mail,  and  patrician 
ladies,  in  stunning  costumes  of  centuries  ago.  But, 
of  course,  the  folks  were  all  out  in  the  country  for 
the  summer,  and  might  not  have  known  enough  to 
ask  us  to  dinner  if  they  had  been  at  home,  and  so 
all  the  grand  empty  salonsy  with  their  resounding 
pavements,  their  grim  pictures  of  dead  ancestors, 
and  tattered  banners  with  the  dust  of  bygone  cen 
turies  upon  them,  seemed  to  brood  solemnly  of 
death  and  the  grave,  and  our  spirits  ebbed  away, 
and  our  cheerfulness  passed  from  us.  We  never 
went  up  to  the  eleventh  story.  We  always  began  to 
suspect  ghosts.  There  was  always  an  undertaker- 
looking  servant  along,  too,  who  handed  us  a  pro 
gramme,  pointed  to  the  picture  that  began  the  list 


216  The  Innocents  Abroad 

of  the  salon  he  was  in,  and  then  stood  stiff  and  stark 
and  unsmiling  in  his  petrified  livery  till  we  were 
ready  to  move  on  to  the  next  chamber,  whereupon 
he  marched  sadly  ahead  and  took  up  another  malig 
nantly  respectful  position  as  before.  I  wasted  so 
much  time  praying  that  the  roof  would  fall  in  on 
these  dispiriting  flunkeys  that  I  had  but  little  left  to 
bestow  upon  palace  and  pictures. 

And  besides,  as  in  Paris,  we  had  a  guide.  Perdi 
tion  catch  all  the  guides.  This  one  said  he  was  the 
most  gifted  linguist  in  Genoa,  as  far  as  English  was 
concerned,  and  that  only  two  persons  in  the  city 
beside  himself  could  talk  the  language  at  all.  He 
showed  us  the  birthplace  of  Christopher  Columbus, 
and  after  we  had  reflected  in  silent  awe  before  it  for 
fifteen  minutes,  he  said  it  was  not  the  birthplace  of 
Columbus,  but  of  Columbus's  grandmother!  When 
we  demanded  an  explanation  of  his  conduct  he  only 
shrugged  his  shoulders  and  answered  in  barbarous 
Italian.  I  shall  speak  further  of  this  guide  in  a 
future  chapter.  All  the  information  we  got  out  of 
him  we  shall  be  able  to  carry  along  with  us,  I  think. 

I  have  not  been  to  church  so  often  in  a  long  time 
as  I  have  in  the  last  few  weeks.  The  people  in  these 
old  lands  seem  to  make  churches  their  specialty. 
Especially  does  this  seem  to  be  the  case  with  the 
citizens  of  Genoa.  I  think  there  is  a  church  every 
three  or  four  hundred  yards  all  over  town.  The 
streets  are  sprinkled  from  end  to  end  with  shovel- 
hatted,  long-robed,  well-fed  priests,  and  the  church 


The  Innocents  Abroad  217 

bells  by  dozens  are  pealing  all  the  day;  long,  nearly. 
Every  now  and  then  one  comes  across  a  friar  of 
orders  gray,  with  shaven  head,  long,  coarse  robe, 
rope  girdle  and  beads,  and  with  feet  cased  in  sandals 
or  entirely  bare.  These  worthies  suffer  in  the  flesh, 
and  do  penance  all  their  lives,  I  suppose,  but  they 
look  like  consummate  famine-breeders.  They  are 
all  fat  and  serene. 

The  old  Cathedral  of  San  Lorenzo  is  about  as 
notable  a  building  as  we  have  found  in  Genoa.  It 
Is  vast,  and  has  colonnades  of  noble  pillars,  and  a 
great  organ,  and  the  customary  pomp  of  gilded 
moldings,  pictures,  frescoed  ceilings,  and  so  forth. 
I  cannot  describe  it,  of  course  —  it  would  require  a 
good  many  pages  to  do  that.  But  it  is  a  curious 
place.  They  said  that  half  of  it  —  from  the  front 
door  half  way  down  to  the  altar  —  was  a  Jewish 
Synagogue  before  the  Saviour  was  born,  and  that  no 
alteration  had  been  made  in  it  since  that  time.  We 
doubted  the  statement,  but  did  it  reluctantly.  We 
would  much  rather  have  believed  it.  The  place 
looked  in  too  perfect  repair  to  be  so  ancient. 

The  main  point  of  interest  about  the  cathedral  is 
the  little  Chapel  of  St.  John  the  Baptist.  They  only 
allow  women  to  enter  it  on  one  day  in  the  year,  on 
account  of  the  animosity  they  still  cherish  against 
the  sex  because  of  the  murder  of  the  Saint  to  gratify 
a  caprice  of  Herodias.  In  this  chapel  is  a  marble 
chest,  in  which,  they  told  us,  were  the  ashes  of  St. 
John;  and  around  it  was  wound  a  chain,  which, 


218  The  Innocents  Abroad 

they  said,  had  confined  him  when  he  was  in  prison. 
We  did  not  desire  to  disbelieve  these  statements,  and 
yet  we  could  not  feel  certain  that  they  were  correct 
—  partly  because  we  could  have  broken  that  chain, 
and  so  could  St.  John,  and  partly  because  we  had 
seen  St.  John's  ashes  before,  in  another  church. 
We  could  not  bring  ourselves  to  think  St.  John  had 
two  sets  of  ashes. 

They  also  showed  us  a  portrait  of  the  Madonna 
which  was  painted  by  St.  Luke,  and  it  did  not  look 
half  as  old  and  smoky  as  some  of  the  pictures  by 
Rubens.  We  could  not  help  admiring  the  Apostle's 
modesty  in  never  once  mentioning  in  his  writings 
that  he  could  paint. 

But  isn't  this  relic  matter  a  little  overdone?  We 
find  a  piece  of  the  true  cross  in  every  old  church  we 
go  into,  and  some  of  the  nails  that  held  it  together. 
I  would  not  like  to  be  positive,  but  I  think  we  have 
seen  as  much  as  a  keg  of  these  nails.  Then  there 
is  the  crown  of  thorns ;  they  have  part  of  one  in 
Sainte  Chapelle,  in  Paris,  and  part  of  one,  also,  in 
Notre  Dame.  And  as  for  bones  of  St.  Denis,  I  feel 
certain  we  have  seen  enough  of  them  to  duplicate 
him,  if  necessary. 

I  only  meant  to  write  about  the  churches,  but  I 
keep  wandering  from  the  subject.  I  could  say  that 
the  Church  of  the  Annunciation  is  a  wilderness  of 
beautiful  columns,  of  statues,  gilded  moldings,  and 
pictures  almost  countless,  but  that  would  give  no 
one  an  entirely  perfect  idea  of  the  thing,  and  so 


The  Innocents  Abroad  219 

where  is  the  use?  One  family  built  the  whole 
edifice,  and  have  got  money  left.  There  is  where 
the  mystery  lies.  We  had  an  idea  at  first  that  only 
a  mint  could  have  survived  the  expense. 

These  people  here  live  in  the  heaviest,  highest, 
broadest,  darkest,  solidest  houses  one  can  imagine. 
Each  one  might  "  laugh  a  siege  to  scorn.1'  A 
hundred  feet  front  and  a  hundred  high  is  about  the 
style,  and  you  go  up  three  flights  of  stairs  before 
you  begin  to  come  upon  signs  of  occupancy. 
Everything  is  stone,  and  stone  of  the  heaviest  — 
floors,  stairways,  mantels,  benches  —  everything. 
The  walls  are  four  to  five  feet  thick.  The  streets 
generally  are  four  or  five  to  eight  feet  wide  and  as 
crooked  as  a  corkscrew.  You  go  along  one  of  these 
gloomy  cracks,  and  look  up  and  behold  the  sky  like 
a  mere  ribbon  of  light,  far  above  your  head,  where 
the  tops  of  the  tall  houses  on  either  side  of  the 
street  bend  almost  together.  You  feel  as  if  you 
were  at  the  bottom  of  some  tremendous  abyss,  with 
all  the  world  far  above  you.  You  wind  in  and  out 
and  here  and  there,  in  the  most  mysterious  way, 
and  have  no  more  idea  of  the  points  of  the  compass 
than  if  you  were  a  blind  man.  You  can  never  per 
suade  yourself  that  these  are  actually  streets,  and 
the  frowning,  dingy,  monstrous  houses  dwellings, 
till  you  see  one  of  these  beautiful,  prettily-dressed 
women  emerge  from  them  —  see  her  emerge  from  a 
dark,  dreary-looking  den  that  looks  dungeon  all 
over,  from  the  ground  away  half-way  up  to  heaven. 


220  The  Innocents  Abroad 

And  then  you  wonder  that  such  a  charming  moth 
could  come  from  such  a  forbidding  shell  as  that. 
The  streets  are  wisely  made  narrow  and  the  houses 
heavy  and  thick  and  stony,  in  order  that  the  people 
may  be  cool  in  this  roasting  climate.  And  they  are 
cool,  and  stay  so.  And  while  I  think  of  it  —  the 
men  wear  hats  and  have  very  dark  complexions,  but 
the  women  wear  no  headgear  but  a  flimsy  veil  like  a 
gossamer's  web,  and  yet  are  exceedingly  fair  as  a 
general  thing.  Singular,  isn't  it? 

The  huge  palaces  of  Genoa  are  each  supposed  to 
be  occupied  by  one  family,  but  they  could  accom 
modate  a  hundred,  I  should  think.  They  are  relics 
of  the  grandeur  of  Genoa's  palmy  days  —  the  days 
when  she  was  a  great  commercial  and  maritime 
power  several  centuries  ago.  These  houses,  solid 
marble  palaces  though  they  be,  are,  in  many  cases, 
of  a  dull  pinkish  color,  outside,  and  from  pavement 
to  eaves  are  pictured  with  Genoese  battle-scenes, 
with  monstrous  Jupiters  and  Cupids  and  with  familiar 
illustrations  from  Grecian  mythology.  Where  the 
paint  has  yielded  to  age  and  exposure  and  is  peel- 
jig  off  in  flakes  and  patches,  the  effect  is  not  happy. 
A  noseless  Cupid,  or  a  Jupiter  with  an  eye  out,  or 
a  Venus  with  a  fly-blister  on  her  breast,  are  not 
attractive  features  in  a  picture.  Some  of  these 
painted  walls  reminded  me  somewhat  of  the  tall  van, 
plastered  with  fanciful  bills  and  posters,  that  follows 
the  band  wagon  of  a  circus  about  a  country  village. 
I  have  not  read  or  heard  that  the  outsides  of  the 


The  Innocents  Abroad  221 

houses  of  any  other  European  city  are  frescoed  in 
this  way. 

I  cannot  conceive  of  such  a  thing  as  Genoa  i» 
ruins.  Such  massive  arches,  such  ponderous  sub 
structions  as  support  these  towering  broad-winged 
edifices,  we  have  seldom  seen  before;  and  surely 
the  great  blocks  of  stone  of  which  these  edifices  are 
built  can  never  decay;  walls  that  are  as  thick  as  an 
ordinary  American  doorway  is  high,  cannot  crumble- 

The  Republics  of  Genoa  and  Pisa  were  very 
powerful  in  the  Middle  Ages.  Their  ships  filled 
the  Mediterranean,  and  they  carried  on  an  extensive 
commerce  with  Constantinople  and  Syria.  Their 
warehouses  were  the  great  distributing  depots  from 
whence  the  costly  merchandise  of  the  East  was  sent 
abroad  over  Europe.  They  were  warlike  little 
nations,  and  defied,  in  those  days,  governments 
that  overshadow  them  now  as  mountains  overshadow 
molehills.  The  Saracens  captured  and  pillaged 
Genoa  nine  hundred  years  ago,  but  during  the  fol 
lowing  century  Genoa  and  Pisa  entered  into  an  offen 
sive  and  defensive  alliance  and  besieged  the  Sara 
cen  colonies  in  Sardinia  and  the  Balearic  Isles  with 
an  obstinacy  that  maintained  its  pristine  vigor  and 
held  to  its  purpose  for  forty  long  years.  They  were 
victorious  at  last,  and  divided  their  conquests 
equably  among  their  great  patrician  families.  De 
scendants  of  some  of  those  proud  families  still  in 
habit  the  palaces  of  Genoa,  and  trace  in  their  own 
features  a  resemblance  to  the  grim  knights  whose 

IS 


222  The  Innocents  Abroau 

portraits  hang  in  their  stately  halls,  and  to  pictured 
beauties  with  pouting  lips  and  merry  eyes  whose 
originals  have  been  dust  and  ashes  for  many  a  dead 
and  forgotten  century. 

The  hotel  we  live  in  belonged  to  one  of  those 
great  orders  of  Knights  of  the  Cross  in  the  times  of 
the  Crusades,  and  its  mailed  sentinels  once  kept 
watch  and  ward  in  its  massive  turrets  and  woke  the 
echoes  of  these  halls  and  corridors  with  their  iron 
heels. 

But  Genoa's  greatness  has  degenerated  into  an 
unostentatious  commerce  in  velvets  and  silver  filigree 
work.  They  say  that  each  European  town  has  its 
specialty.  These  filigree  things  are  Genoa's  spe 
cialty.  Her  smiths  take  silver  ingots  and  work  them 
up  into  all  manner  of  graceful  and  beautiful  forms. 
They  make  bunches  of  flowers,  from  flakes  and  wires 
of  silver,  that  counterfeit  the  delicate  creations  the 
frost  weaves  upon  a  window  pane ;  and  we  were 
shown  a  miniature  silver  temple  whose  fluted  col 
umns,  whose  Corinthian  capitals  and  rich  entabla 
tures,  whose  spire,  statues,  bells,  and  ornate  lavish- 
ness  of  sculpture  were  wrought  in  polished  silver, 
and  with  such  matchless  art  that  every  detail  was  a 
fascinating  study,  and  the  finished  edifice  a  wonder 
of  beauty. 

We  are  ready  to  move  again,  though  we  are  not 
really  tired,  yet,  of  the  narrow  passages  of  this  old 
marble  cave.  Cave  is  a  good  word  —  when  speak- 
ing  of  Genoa  under  the  stars.  When  we  have  been 


The  Innocents  Abroad  223 

prowling  at  midnight  through  the  gloomy  crevices 
they  call  streets,  where  no  footfalls  but  ours  were 
echoing,  where  only  ourselves  were  abroad,  and 
lights  appeared  only  at  long  intervals  and  at  a  dis 
tance,  and  mysteriously  disappeared  again,  and  the 
houses  at  our  elbows  seemed  to  stretch  upward 
farther  than  ever  toward  the  heavens,  the  memory 
of  a  cave  I  used  to  know  at  home  was  always  in  my 
mind,  with  its  lofty  passages,  its  silence  and  solitude, 
its  shrouding  gloom,  its  sepulchral  echoes,  its  flitting 
lights,  and  more  than  all,  its  sudden  revelations  of 
branching  crevices  and  corridors  where  we  least  ex 
pected  them. 

We  are  not  tired  of  the  endless  processions  of 
cheerful,  chattering  gossipers  that  throng  these 
courts  and  streets  all  day  long,  either ;  nor  of  the 
coarse-robed  monks;  nor  of  the  *'Asti"  wines, 
which  that  old  doctor  (whom  we  call  the  Oracle^ 
with  customary  felicity  in  the  matter  of  getting 
everything  wrong,  misterms  "  nasty."  But  we 
must  go,  nevertheless. 

Our  last  sight  was  the  cemetery  (a  burial  place 
intended  to  accommodate  60,000  bodies),  and  we 
shall  continue  to  remember  it  after  we  shall  have 
forgotten  the  palaces.  It  is  a  vast  marble  colonnaded 
corridor  extending  around  a  great  unoccupied  square 
of  ground ;  its  broad  floor  is  marble,  and  on  every 
slab  is  an  inscription  —  for  every  slab  covers  a 
corpse.  On  either  side,  as  one  walks  down  the 
middle  of  the  passage,  are  monuments,  tombs,  and 


224  The  Innocents  Abroad 

sculptured  figures  that  are  exquisitely  wrought  and 
are  full  of  grace  and  beauty.  They  are  new  and 
snowy;  every  outline  is  perfect,  every  feature  guilt 
less  of  mutilation,  flaw,  or  blemish;  and,  therefore, 
to  us  these  far-reaching  ranks  of  bewitching  forms 
are  a  hundredfold  more  lovely  than  the  damaged 
and  dingy  statuary  they  have  saved  from  the  wreck 
of  ancient  art  and  set  up  in  the  galleries  of  Paris  for 
the  worship  of  the  world. 

Well  provided  with  cigars  and  other  necessaries  of 
life,  we  are  now  ready  to  take  the  cars  for  Milan. 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 

aLL  day  long  we  sped  through  a  mountainous 
country  whose  peaks  were  bright  with  sun 
shine,  whose  hillsides  were  dotted  with  pretty  villas 
sitting  in  the  midst  of  gardens  and  shrubbery,  and 
whose  deep  ravines  were  cool  and  shady,  and  looked 
ever  so  inviting  from  where  we  and  the  birds  were 
winging  our  flight  through  the  sultry  upper  air. 

We  had  plenty  of  chilly  tunnels  wherein  to 
check  our  perspiration,  though.  We  timed  one  of 
them.  We  were  twenty  minutes  passing  through 
it,  going  at  the  rate  of  thirty  to  thirty-five  mUes 
an  hour. 

Beyond  Alessandria  we  passed  the  battlefield  of 
Marengo. 

Toward  dusk  we  drew  near  Milan,  and  caught 
glimpses  of  the  city  and  the  blue  mountain-peaks 
beyond.  But  we  were  not  caring  for  these  things  — 
they  did  not  interest  us  in  the  least.  We  were  in  a 
fever  of  impatience ;  we  were  dying  to  see  the  re 
nowned  cathedral !  We  watched  —  in  this  direction 
and  that  —  all  around  —  everywhere.  We  needed  no 
one  to  point  it  out  —  we  did  not  wish  any  one  to 
15«  (225) 


226  The  Innocents  Abroad 

point  it  out  —  we  would  recognize  it,  even  in  the 
desert  of  the  great  Sahara. 

At  last,  a  forest  of  graceful  needles,  shimmering 
in  the  amber  sunlight,  rose  slowly  above  the  pigmy 
housetops,  as  one  sometimes  sees,  in  the  far  hori 
zon,  a  gilded  and  pinnacled  mass  of  cloud  lift  itself 
above  the  waste  of  waves,  at  sea, —  the  cathedral ! 
We  knew  it  in  a  moment. 

Half  of  that  night,  and  all  of  the  next  day,  this 
architectural  autocrat  was  our  sole  object  of  interest. 

What  a  wonder  it  is!  So  grand,  so  solemn,  so 
vast !  And  yet  so  delicate,  so  airy,  so  graceful !  A 
very  world  of  solid  weight,  and  yet  it  seems  in  the 
soft  moonlight  only  a  fairy  delusion  of  frostwork 
that  might  vanish  with  a  breath !  How  sharply  its 
pinnacled  angles  and  its  wilderness  of  spires  were  cut 
against  the  sky,  and  how  richly  their  shadows  fell  upon 
its  snowy  roof !  It  was  a  vision  !  —  a  miracle  !  —  an 
anthem  sung  in  stone,  a  poem  wrought  in  marble ! 

Howsoever  you  look  at  the  great  cathedral,  it  is 
noble,  it  is  beautiful !  Wherever  you  stand  in 
Milan,  or  within  seven  miles  of  Milan,  it  is  visible  — 
and  when  it  is  visible,  no  other  object  can  chain 
your  whole  attention.  Leave  your  eyes  unfettered 
by  your  will  but  a  single  instant  and  they  will  surely 
turn  to  seek  it.  It  is  the  first  thing  you  look  for 
when  you  rise  in  the  morning,  and  the  last  your 
lingering  gaze  rests  upon  at  night.  Surely,  it  must 
be  the  princeliest  creation  that  ever  brain  of  man 
conceived. 


The  Innocents  Abroad  227 

At  nine  o'clock  in  the  morning  we  went  and  stood 
before  this  marble  colossus.  The  central  one  of  its 
five  great  doors  is  bordered  with  a  bas-relief  of  birds 
and  fruits  and  beasts  and  insects,  which  have  been 
so  ingeniously  carved  out  of  the  marble  that  they 
seem  like  living  creatures  —  and  the  figures  are  so 
numerous  and  the  design  so  complex,  that  one 
might  study  it  a  week  without  exhausting  its 
interest.  On  the  great  steeple  —  surmounting  the 
myriad  of  spires  —  inside  of  the  spires  —  over  the 
doors,  the  windows  —  in  nooks  and  corners  —  every 
where  that  a  niche  or  a  perch  can  be  found  about  the 
enormous  building,  from  summit  to  base,  there  is  a 
marble  statue,  and  every  statue  is  a  study  in  itself! 
Raphael,  Angelo,  Canova — giants  like  these  gave 
birth  to  the  designs,  and  their  own  pupils  carved 
them.  Every  face  is  eloquent  with  expression,  and 
every  attitude  is  full  of  grace.  Away  above,  on 
the  lofty  roof,  rank  on  rank  of  carved  and  fretted 
spires  spring  high  in  the  air,  and  through  their  rich 
tracery  one  sees  the  sky  beyond.  In  their  midst  the 
central  steeple  towers  proudly  up  like  the  mainmast 
of  some  great  Indiaman  among  a  fleet  of  coasters. 

We  wished  to  go  aloft.  The  sacristan  showed  us 
a  marble  stairway  (of  course  it  was  marble,  and  of 
the  purest  and  whitest — there  is  no  other  stone,  no 
brick,  no  wood,  among  its  building  materials;,  and 
told  us  to  go  up  one  hundred  and  eighty-two  steps 
and  stop  till  he  came.  It  was  not  necessary  to  say 
stop  —  we  should  have  done  that  anyhow ,  We 
o» 


228  The  Innocents  Abroad 

were  tired  by  the  time  we  got  there.  This  was  the 
roof.  Here,  springing  from  its  broad  marble  flag 
stones,  were  the  long  files  of  spires,  looking  very 
tall  close  at  hand,  but  diminishing  in  the  distance 
like  the  pipes  of  an  organ.  We  could  see,  now,  that 
the  statue  on  the  top  of  each  was  the  size  of  a  large 
man,  though  they  all  looked  like  dolls  from  the 
street.  We  could  see,  also,  that  from  the  inside  of 
each  and  every  one  of  these  hollow  spires,  from 
sixteen  to  thirty-one  beautiful  marble  statues  looked 
out  upon  the  world  below. 

From  the  eaves  to  the  comb  of  the  roof  stretched 
in  endless  succession  great  curved  marble  beams, 
like  the  fore-and-aft  braces  of  a  steamboat,  and 
along  each  beam  from  end  to  end  stood  up  a  row  of 
richly  carved  flowers  and  fruits  —  each  separate  and 
distinct  in  kind,  and  over  15,000  species  repre 
sented.  At  a  little  distance  these  rows  seem  to 
close  together  like  the  ties  of  a  railroad  track,  and 
then  the  mingling  together  of  the  buds  and  blossoms 
of  this  marble  garden  forms  a  picture  that  is  very 
charming  to  the  eye. 

We  descended  and  entered.  Within  the  church, 
long  rows  of  fluted  columns,  like  huge  monuments, 
divided  the  building  into  broad  aisles,  and  on  the 
figured  pavement  fell  many  a  soft  blush  from  the 
painted  windows  above.  I  knew  the  church  was 
very  large,  but  I  could  not  fully  appreciate  its  great 
size  until  I  noticed  that  the  men  standing  far  down 
by  the  altar  looked  like  boys,  and  seemed  to  glide, 


The  Innocents  Abroad  229 

rather  than  walk.  We  loitered  about  gazing  aloft  at 
the  monster  windows  all  aglow  with  brilliantly 
colored  scenes  in  the  lives  of  the  Saviour  and  his 
followers.  Some  of  these  pictures  are  mosaics,  and 
so  artistically  are  their  thousand  particles  of  tinted 
glass  or  stone  put  together  that  the  work  has  all  the 
smoothness  and  finish  of  a  painting.  We  counted 
sixty  panes  of  glass  in  one  window,  and  each  pane 
was  adorned  with  one  of  these  master  achievements 
of  genius  and  patience. 

The  guide  showed  us  a  coffee-colored  piece  of 
sculpture  which  he  said  was  considered  to  have  come 
from  the  hand  of  Phidias,  since  it  was  not  possible 
that  any  other  artist,  of  any  epoch,  could  have 
copied  nature  with  such  faultless  accuracy.  The 
figure  was  that  of  a  man  without  a  skin ;  with  every 
vein,  artery,  muscle,  every  fibre  and  tendon  and 
tissue  of  the  human  frame,  represented  in  minute 
detail.  It  looked  natural,  because  somehow  it  looked 
as  if  it  were  in  pain.  A  skinned  man  would  be  likely 
to  look  that  way,  unless  his  attention  were  occupied 
with  some  other  matter.  It  was  a  hideous  thing, 
and  yet  there  was  a  fascination  about  it  somewhere. 
I  am  very  sorry  I  saw  it,  because  I  shall  always  see 
it,  now.  I  shall  dream  of  it,  sometimes.  I  shall 
dream  that  it  is  resting  its  corded  arms  on  the  bed's 
head  and  looking  down  on  me  with  its  dead  eyes ;  I 
shall  dream  that  it  is  stretched  between  the  sheets 
with  me  and  touching  me  with  its  exposed  muscles 
and  its  stringy  colH  legs. 


230  The  Innocents  Abroad 

It  is  hard  to  forget  repulsive  things.  I  remember 
yet  how  I  ran  off  from  school  once,  when  I  was  a 
boy,  and  then,  pretty  late  at  night,  concluded  to 
climb  into  the  window  of  my  father's  office  and 
sleep  on  a  lounge,  because  I  had  a  delicacy  about 
going  home  and  getting  thrashed.  As  I  lay  on  the 
lounge  and  my  eyes  grew  accustomed  to  the  dark 
ness,  I  fancied  I  could  see  a  long,  dusky,  shapeless 
thing  stretched  upon  the  floor.  A  cold  shiver  went 
through  me.  I  turned  my  face  to  the  wall.  That 
did  not  answer.  I  was  afraid  that  that  thing  would 
creep  over  and  seize  me  in  the  dark.  I  turned  back 
and  stared  at  it  for  minutes  and  minutes  —  they 
seemed  hours.  It  appeared  to  me  that  the  lagging 
moonlight  never,  never  would  get  to  it.  I  turned  to 
the  wall  and  counted  twenty,  to  pass  the  feverish 
time  away.  I  looked  —  the  pale  square  was  nearer. 
I  turned  again  and  counted  fifty  —  it  was  almost 
touching  it.  With  desperate  will  I  turned  again  and 
counted  one  hundred,  and  faced  about,  all  in  a 
tremble.  A  white  human  hand  lay  in  the  moon 
light !  Such  an  awful  sinking  at  the  heart  —  such  a 
sudden  gasp  for  breath  !  I  felt  —  I  cannot  tell  what 
I  felt.  When  I  recovered  strength  enough,  I  faced 
the  wall  again.  But  no  boy  could  have  remained 
so,  with  that  mysterious  hand  behind  him.  I 
counted  again,  and  looked  —  the  most  of  a  naked 
arm  was  exposed.  I  put  my  hands  over  my  eyes 
and  counted  till  I  could  stand  it  no  longer,  and  then 
—  the  pallid  face  of  a  man  was  there,  with  the 


The  Innocents  Abroad  231 

corners  of  the  mouth  drawn  down,  and  the  eyes 
fixed  and  glassy  in  death !  I  raised  to  a  sitting 
posture  and  glowered  on  that  corpse  till  the  light 
crept  down  the  bare  breast, —  line  by  line  —  inch  by 
inch  —  past  the  nipple,  —  and  then  it  disclosed  a 
ghastly  stab ! 

I  went  away  from  there.  I  do  not  say  that  I  went 
away  in  any  sort  of  a  hurry,  but  I  simply  went  — 
that  is  sufficient.  I  went  out  at  the  window,  and  I 
carried  the  sash  along  with  me.  I  did  not  need  the 
sash,  but  it  was  handier  to  take  it  than  it  was  to 
leave  it,  and  so  I  took  it.  I  was  not  scared,  but  I 
was  considerably  agitated. 

When  I  reached  home,  they  whipped  me,  but  I 
enjoyed  it.  It  seemed  perfectly  delightful.  That 
man  had  been  stabbed  near  the  office  that  afternoon, 
and  they  carried  him  in  there  to  doctor  him,  but  he 
only  lived  an  hour.  I  have  slept  in  the  same  rocm 
with  him  often,  since  then  —  in  my  dreams. 

Now  we  will  descend  into  the  crypt,  under  the 
grand  altar  of  Milan  cathedral,  and  receive  an  im 
pressive  sermon  from  lips  that  have  been  silent  and 
hands  that  have  been  gestureless  for  three  hundred 
years. 

The  priest  stopped  in  a  small  dungeon  and  held 
up  his  candle.  This  was  the  last  resting-place  of  a 
good  man,  a  warm-hearted,  unselfish  man;  a  man 
whose  whole  life  was  given  to  succoring  the  poor, 
encouraging  the  faint-hearted,  visiting  the  sick;  in 
relieving  distress,  whenever  and  wherever  he  found 


232  The  Innocents  Abroad 

it.  His  heart,  his  hand,  and  his  purse  were  always 
open.  With  his  story  in  one's  mind  he  can  almost 
see  his  benignant  countenance  moving  calmly  among 
the  haggard  faces  of  Milan  in  the  days  when  the 
plague  swept  the  city,  brave  where  all  others  were 
cowards,  full  of  compassion  where  pity  had  been 
crushed  out  of  all  other  breasts  by  the  instinct  of 
self-preservation  gone  mad  with  terror,  cheering  all, 
praying  with  all,  helping  all,  with  hand  and  braic 
and  purse,  at  a  time  when  parents  forsook  their 
children,  the  friend  deserted  the  friend,  and  the 
brother  turned  away  from  the  sister  while  her  plead 
ings  were  still  wailing  in  his  ears. 

This  was  good  St.  Charles  Borromeo,  Bishop  of 
Milan.  The  people  idolized  him;  princes  lavished 
uncounted  treasures  upon  him.  We  stood  in  his 
tomb.  Near  by  was  the  sarcophagus,  lighted  by  the 
dripping  candles.  The  walls  were  faced  with  bas- 
reliefs  representing  scenes  in  his  life  done  in  massive 
silver.  The  priest  put  on  a  short  white  lace  garment 
over  his  black  robe,  crossed  himself,  bowed  rever 
ently,  and  began  to  turn  a  windlass  slowly.  The 
sarcophagus  separated  in  two  parts,  lengthwise,  and 
the  lower  part  sank  down  and  disclosed  a  coffin  of 
rock  crystal  as  clear  as  the  atmosphere.  Within  lay 
the  body,  robed  in  costly  habiliments  covered  with 
gold  embroidery  and  starred  with  scintillating  gems. 
The  decaying  head  was  black  with  age,  the  dry  skin 
was  drawn  tight  to  the  bones,  the  eyes  were  gone, 
there  was  a  hole  in  the  temple  and  another  in  the 


The  Innocents  Abroad  233 

cheek,  and  the  skinny  lips  were  parted  as  in  a  ghastly 
smile  1  Over  this  dreadful  face,  its  dust  and  decay, 
and  its  mocking  grin,  hung  a  crown  sown  thick  with 
flashing  brilliants ;  and  upon  the  breast  lay  crosses 
and  croziers  of  solid  gold  that  were  splendid  with 
emeralds  and  diamonds. 

How  poor,  and  cheap,  and  trivial  these  gewgaws 
seemed  in  presence  of  the  solemnity,  the  grandeur, 
the  awful  majesty  of  Death !  Think  of  Milton, 
Shakespeare,  Washington,  standing  before  a  reverent 
world  tricked  out  in  the  glass  beads,  the  brass  ear 
rings,  and  tin  trumpery  of  the  savages  of  the  plains  1 

Dead  Borromeo  preached  his  pregnant  sermon, 
and  its  burden  was:  You  that  worship  the  vanities 
of  earth  —  you  that  long  for  worldly  honor,  worldly 
wealth,  worldly  fame  —  behold  their  worth! 

To  us  it  seemed  that  so  good  a  man,  so  kind  a 
heart,  so  simple  a  nature,  deserved  rest  and  peace  in 
a  grave  sacred  from  the  intrusion  of  prying  eyes, 
and  believed  that  he  himself  would  have  preferred 
to  have  it  so,  but  peradventure  our  wisdom  was  at 
fault  in  this  regard. 

As  we  came  out  upon  the  floor  of  the  church 
again,  another  priest  volunteered  to  show  us  the 
treasures  of  the  church.  What,  more?  The  furni 
ture  of  the  narrow  chamber  of  death  we  had  just 
visited,  weighed  six  millions  of  francs  in  ounces  and 
carats  alone,  without  a  penny  thrown  into  the  ac 
count  for  the  costly  workmanship  bestowed  upon 
them !  But  we  .ollowed  into  a  large  room  rilled 


234  The  Innocents  Abroad 

with  tall  wooden  presses  like  wardrobes.  He  threw 
them  open,  and  behold,  the  cargoes  of  "  crude 
bullion  "  of  the  assay  offices  of  Nevada  faded  out  of 
my  memory.  There  were  Virgins  and  bishops  there, 
above  their  natural  size,  made  of  solid  silver,  each 
worth,  by  weight,  from  eight  hundred  thousand  to 
two  millions  of  francs,  and  bearing  gemmed  books 
in  their  hands  worth  eighty  thousand ;  there  were 
bas-reliefs  that  weighed  six  hundred  oounds,  carved 
in  solid  silver;  croziers  and  crosses,  and  candlesticks 
six  and  eight  feet  high,  all  of  virgin  gold,  and 
brilliant  with  precious  stones ;  and  beside  these  were 
all  manner  of  cups  and  vases,  and  such  things,  rich 
in  proportion.  It  was  an  Aladdin's  palace.  The 
treasures  here,  by  simple  weight,  without  counting 
workmanship,  were  valued  at  fifty  millions  of  francs ! 
If  I  could  get  the  custody  of  them  for  a  while,  I  fear 
me  the  market  price  of  silver  bishops  would  advance 
shortly,  on  account  of  their  exceeding  scarcity  in 
the  Cathedral  of  Milan. 

The  priests  showed  us  two  of  St.  Paul's  fingers, 
and  one  of  St.  Peter's;  a  bone  of  Judas  Iscariot  (it 
was  black),  and  also  bones  of  all  the  other  disciples; 
a  handkerchief  in  which  the  Saviour  had  left  the 
impression  of  his  face.  Among  the  most  precious 
of  the  relics  were,  a  stone  from  the  Holy  Sepulchre, 
part  of  the  crown  of  thorns  (they  have  a  whole  one 
at  Notre  Dame),  a  fragment  of  the  purple  robe 
worn  by  the  Saviour,  a  nail  from  the  Cross,  and  a 
picture  of  the  Virgin  and  Child  painted  by  the 


The  Innocents  Abroad  235 

veritable  hand  of  St.  Luke.  This  is  the  second  of 
St.  Luke's  Virgins  we  have  seen.  Once  a  year  all 
these  holy  relics  are  carried  in  procession  through 
the  streets  of  Milan. 

I  like  to  revel  in  the  dryest  details  of  the  great 
cathedral.  The  building  is  five  hundred  feet  long 
by  one  hundred  and  eighty  wide,  and  the  principal 
steeple  is  in  the  neighborhood  of  four  hundred  feet 
high.  It  has  7,148  marble  statues,  and  will  have 
upward  of  three  thousand  more  when  it  is  finished. 
In  addition,  it  has  one  thousand  five  hundred  bas- 
reliefs.  It  has  one  hundred  and  thirty-six  spires  — 
twenty-one  more  are  to  be  added.  Each  spire  is 
surmounted  by  a  statue  six  and  a  half  feet  high. 
Everything  about  the  church  is  marble,  and  all  from 
the  same  quarry ;  it  was  bequeathed  to  the  Arch 
bishopric  for  this  purpose  centuries  ago.  So  noth 
ing  but  the  mere  workmanship  costs;  still  that  is 
expensive  —  the  bill  foots  up  six  hundred  and 
eighty-four  millions  of  francs,  thus  far  (considerably 
over  a  hundred  millions  of  dollars),  and  it  is  esti 
mated  that  it  will  take  a  hundred  and  twenty  years 
yet  to  finish  the  cathedral.  It  looks  complete,  but 
is  far  from  being  so.  We  saw  a  new  statue  put  in 
its  niche  yesterday,  alongside  of  one  which  had  been 
standing  these  four  hundred  years,  they  said.  There 
are  four  staircases  leading  up  to  the  main  steeple, 
each  of  which  cost  a  hundred  thousand  dollars,  with 
the  four  hundred  and  eight  statues  which  adorn 
them.,  Marcoda  Campione  was  the  architect  who  de- 


236  The  Innocents  Abroad 

signed  the  wonderful  structure  more  than  five  hun* 
dred  years  ago,  and  it  took  him  forty-six  years  to 
work  out  the  plan  and  get  it  ready  to  hand  over  to 
the  builders.  He  is  dead  now.  The  building  was 
begun  a  little  less  than  five  hundred  years  ago,  and 
the  third  generation  hence  will  not  see  it  completed. 

The  building  looks  best  by  moonlight,  because 
the  older  portions  of  it  being  stained  with  age,  con 
trast  unpleasantly  with  the  newer  and  whiter  por 
tions.  It  seems  somewhat  too  broad  for  its  height, 
but  may  be  familiarity  with  it  might  dissipate  this 
impression. 

They  say  that  the  Cathedral  of  Milan  is  second 
only  to  St.  Peter's  at  Rome.  I  cannot  understand 
how  it  can  be  second  to  anything  made  by  human 
hands. 

We  bid  it  good-bye  now — possibly  for  all  time. 
How  surely,  in  some  future  day,  when  the  memory 
of  it  shall  have  lost  its  vividness,  shall  we  half 
believe  we  have  seen  it  in  a  wonderful  dream,  bui 
never  with  waking  eyes  I 


CHAPTER   XIX. 

u  P\O  you  wis  zo  haut  can  be?" 

L'  That  was  what  the  guide  asked,  when  we 
were  looking  up  at  the  bronze  horses  on  the  Arch 
of  Peace.  It  meant,  Do  you  wish  to  go  up  there? 
I  give  it  as  a  specimen  of  guide-English.  These  are 
the  people  that  make  life  a  burthen  to  the  tourist. 
Their  tongues  are  never  still.  They  talk  forever  and 
forever,  and  that  is  the  kind  of  billingsgate  they  use. 
Inspiration  itself  could  hardly  comprehend  them.  If 
they  would  only  show  you  a  masterpiece  of  art,  or  a 
venerable  tomb,  or  a  prison-house,  or  a  battlefield, 
hallowed  by  touching  memories,  or  historical  remini 
scences,  or  grand  traditions,  and  then  step  aside  and 
hold  still  for  ten  minutes  and  let  you  think,  it  would 
not  be  so  bad.  But  they  interrupt  every  dream, 
every  pleasant  train  of  thought,  with  their  tiresome 
cackling.  Sometimes  when  I  have  been  standing 
before  some  cherished  old  idol  of  mine  that  I  re 
membered  years  and  years  ago  in  pictures  in  the 
geography  at  school,  I  have  thought  I  would  give  a 
whole  world  if  the  human  parrot  at  my  side  would 
16  (237? 


238  The  Innocents  Abroad 

suddenly  perish  where  he  stood  and  leave  me  to 
gaze,  and  ponder,  and  worship. 

No,  we  did  not  "wis  zo  haut  can  be."  We 
wished  to  go  to  La  Scala,  the  largest  theater  in  the 
world,  I  think  they  call  it.  We  did  so.  It  was  a 
large  place.  Seven  separate  and  distinct  masses  of 
humanity — six  great  circles  and  a  monster  par- 
quette. 

We  wished  to  go  to  the  Ambrosian  Library,  and 
we  did  that  also.  We  saw  a  manuscript  of  Virgil, 
with  annotations  in  the  handwriting  of  Petrarch,  the 
gentleman  who  loved  another  man's  Laura,  and 
lavished  upon  her  all  through  life  a  love  which  was  a 
clear  waste  of  the  raw  material.  It  was  sound  senti 
ment,  but  bad  judgment.  It  broughf  both  parties 
fame,  and  created  a  fountain  of  con  miseration  for 
them  in  sentimental  breasts  that  is  running  yet.  But 
who  says  a  word  in  behalf  of  poor  Mr.  Laura?  (I 
do  not  know  his  other  name.)  Who  glorifies  him? 
Who  bedews  him  with  tears?  Who  writes  poetry 
about  him?  Nobody.  How  do  you  suppose  he 
liked  the  state  of  things  that  has  given  the  world  so 
much  pleasure?  How  did  he  enjoy  having  another 
man  following  his  wife  everywhere  and  making  her 
name  a  familiar  word  in  every  garlic-exterminating 
mouth  in  Italy  with  his  sonnets  to  her  pre-empted 
eyebrows?  They  got  fame  and  sympathy  —  he  got 
neither.  This  is  a  peculiarly  felicitous  instance  of 
what  is  called  poetical  justice.  It  is  all  very  fine; 
but  it  does  not  chime  with  my  notions  of  right.  It 


The  Innocents  Abroad  239 

is  too  one-sided  —  too  ungenerous.  Let  the  world 
go  on  fretting  about  Laura  and  Petrarch  if  it  will ; 
but  as  for  me,  my  tears  and  my  lamentations  shall 
be  lavished  upon  the  unsung  defendant. 

We  saw  also  an  autograph  letter  of  Lucrezia 
Borgia,  a  lady  for  whom  I  have  always  entertained 
the  highest  respect,  on  account  of  her  rare  histrionic 
capabilities,  her  opulence  in  solid  gold  goblets  made, 
of  gilded  wood,  her  high  distinction  as  an  operatic 
screamer,  and  the  facility  with  which  she  could  order 
a  sextuple  funeral  and  get  the  corpses  ready  for  it. 
We  saw  one  single  coarse  yellow  hair  from  Lucre- 
zia's  head,  likewise.  It  awoke  emotions,  but  we 
still  live.  In  this  same  library  we  saw  some  drawings 
by  Michael  Angelo  (these  Italians  call  him  MickeJ 
Angelo),  and  Leonardo  da  Vinci.  (They  spell  it 
Vinci  and  pronounce  it  Vinchy;  foreigners  always 
spell  better  than  they  pronounce.)  We  reserve  our 
opinion  of  these  sketches. 

In  another  building  they  showed  us  a  fresco 
representing  some  lions  and  other  beasts  drawing 
chariots ;  and  they  seemed  to  project  so  far  from 
the  wall  that  we  took  them  to  be  sculptures.  The 
artist  had  shrewdly  heightened  the  delusion  by  paint 
ing  dust  on  the  creatures'  backs,  as  if  it  had  fallen 
there  naturally  and  properly.  Smart  fellow  —  if  it 
be  smart  to  deceive  strangers. 

Elsewhere  we  saw  a  huge  Roman  amphitheater, 
with  its  stone  seats  still  in  good  preservation. 
Modernized,  it  is  now  the  scene  of  more  peaceful 


240  The  Innocents  Aoroad 

recreations  than  the  exhibition  of  a  party  of  wild 
beasts  with  Christians  for  dinner.  Part  of  the  time, 
the  Milanese  use  it  for  a  race  track,  and  at  other 
seasons  they  flood  it  with  water  and  have  spirited 
yachting  regattas  there.  The  guide  told  us  these 
things,  and  he  would  hardly  try  so  hazardous  an 
experiment  as  the  telling  of  a  falsehood,  when  it  is 
all  he  can  do  to  speak  the  truth  in  English  without 
getting  the  lockjaw. 

In  another  place  we  were  shown  a  sort  of  summer 
arbor,  with  a  fence  before  it.  We  said  that  was 
nothing.  We  looked  again,  and  saw,  through  the 
arbor,  an  endless  stretch  of  garden,  and  shrubbery, 
and  grassy  lawn.  We  were  perfectly  willing  to  go 
in  there  and  rest,  but  it  could  not  be  done.  It  was 
only  another  delusion  —  a  painting  by  some  ingenious 
artist  with  little  chanty  in  his  heart  for  tired  folk. 
The  deception  was  perfect.  No  one  could  have 
imagined  the  park  was  not  real.  We  even  thought 
we  smelled  the  flowers  at  first. 

We  got  a  carriage  at  twilight  and  drove  in  the 
shaded  avenues  with  the  other  nobility,  and  after 
dinner  we  took  wine  and  ices  in  a  fine  garden  with 
the  great  public.  The  music  was  excellent,  the 
flowers  and  shrubbery  were  pleasant  to  the  eye,  the 
scene  was  vivacious,  everybody  was  genteel  and  well- 
behaved,  and  the  ladies  were  slightly  moustached,  and 
handsomely  dressed,  but  very  homely. 

We  adjourned  to  a  caf6  and  played  billiards  an 
hour,  and  I  made  six  or  seven  points  by  the 


The  Innocents  Abroad  241 

doctor  pocketing  his  ball,  and  he  made  as  many  by 
my  pocketing  my  ball.  We  came  near  making  a 
carom  sometimes,  but  not  the  one  we  were  trying  to 
make.  The  table  was  of  the  usual  European  style  — 
cushions  dead  and  twice  as  high  as  the  balls;  the 
cues  in  bad  repair.  The  natives  play  only  a  sort  of 
pool  on  them.  We  have  never  seen  anybody  play 
ing  the  French  three-ball  game  yet,  and  I  doubt  if 
there  is  any  such  game  known  in  France,  or  that 
there  lives  any  man  mad  enough  to  try  to  play  it  on 
one  of  these  European  tables.  We  had  to  stop 
playing,  finally,  because  Dan  got  to  sleeping  fifteen 
minutes  between  the  counts  and  paying  no  attention 
to  his  marking. 

Afterward  we  walked  up  and  down  one  of  the 
most  popular  streets  for  some  time,  enjoying  other 
people's  comfort  and  wishing  we  could  export  some 
of  it  to  our  restless,  driving,  vitality-consuming 
marts  at  home.  Just  in  this  one  matter  lies  the 
main  charm  of  life  in  Europe  —  comfort.  In 
America,  we  hurry  —  which  is  well;  but  when  the 
day's  work  is  done,  we  go  on  thinking  of  losses  and 
gains,  we  plan  for  the  morrow,  we  even  carry  our 
business  cares  to  bed  with  us,  and  toss  and  worry 
over  them  when  we  ought  to  be  restoring  our  racked 
bodies  and  brains  with  sleep.  We  burn  up  our 
energies  with  these  excitements,  and  either  die  early 
or  drop  into  a  lean  and  mean  old  age  at  a  time  of 
life  which  they  call  a  man's  prime  in  Europe. 
When  an  acre  of  ground  has  produced  long  and 
16* 


242  The  Innocents  Abroad 

well,  we  let  it  lie  fallow  and  rest  for  a  season;  we 
take  no  man  clear  across  the  continent  in  the  same 
coach  he  started  in  —  the  coach  is  stabled  some 
where  on  the  plains  and  its  heated  machinery  allowed 
to  cool  for  a  few  days ;  when  a  razor  has  seen  long 
service  and  refuses  to  hold  an  edge,  the  barber  lays 
it  away  for  a  few  weeks,  and  the  edge  comes  back 
of  its  own  accord.  We  bestow  thoughtful  care  upon 
inanimate  objects,  but  none  upon  ourselves.  What 
a  robust  people,  what  a  nation  of  thinkers  we  might 
be,  if  we  would  only  lay  ourselves  on  the  shelf  occa 
sionally  and  renew  our  edges ! 

I  do  envy  these  Europeans  the  comfort  they  take. 
When  the  work  of  the  day  is  done,  they  forget  it. 
Some  of  them  go,  with  wife  and  children,  to  a  beer 
hall,  and  sit  quietly  and  genteelly  drinking  a  mug  or 
two  of  ale  and  listening  to  music ;  others  walk  the 
streets,  others  drive  in  the  avenues ;  others  assemble 
in  the  great  ornamental  squares  in  the  early  evening 
to  enjoy  the  sight  and  the  fragrance  of  flowers  and 
to  hear  the  military  bands  play  —  no  European  city 
being  without  its  fine  military  music  at  eventide; 
and  yet  others  of  the  populace  sit  in  the  open  air  in 
front  of  the  refreshment  houses  and  eat  ices  and 
drink  mild  beverages  that  could  not  harm  a  child. 
They  go  to  bed  moderately  early,  and  sleep  well. 
They  are  always  quiet,  always  orderly,  always  cheer 
ful,  comfortable,  and  appreciative  of  life  and  its 
manifold  blessings.  One  never  sees  a  drunken  man 
among  them.  The  change  that  has  come  over  out 


The  Innocents  Abroad  243 

little  party  is  surprising.  Day  by  day  we  lose  some 
of  our  restlessness  and  absorb  some  of  the  spirit  of 
quietude  and  ease  that  is  in  the  tranquil  atmosphere 
about  us  and  in  the  demeanor  of  the  people.  We 
grow  wise  apace.  We  begin  to  comprehend  what 
life  is  for. 

We  have  had  a  bath  in  Milan,  in  a  public  bath* 
house.  They  were  going  to  put  all  three  of  us  in 
one  bathtub,  but  we  objected.  Each  of  us  had  an 
Italian  farm  on  his  back.  We  could  have  felt 
affluent  if  we  had  been  officially  surveyed  and  fenced 
in.  We  chose  to  have  three  bathtubs,  and  large 
ones  —  tubs  suited  to  the  dignity  of  aristocrats  who 
had  real  estate,  and  brought  it  with  them.  After 
we  were  stripped  and  had  taken  the  first  chilly 
dash,  we  discovered  that  haunting  atrocity  that  has 
embittered  our  lives  in  so  many  cities  and  villages  of 
Italy  and  France  —  there  was  no  soap.  I  called. 
A  woman  answered,  and  I  barely  had  time  to  throw 
myself  against  the  door  —  she  would  have  been  in, 
in  another  second.  I  said : 

4 *  Beware,  woman!  Go  away  from  here  —  go 
away,  now,  or  it  will  be  the  worse  for  you.  I  am 
an  unprotected  male,  but  I  will  preserve  my  honor 
at  the  peril  of  my  life  ! ' ' 

These  words  must  have  frightened  her,  for  she 
skurried  away  very  fast. 

Dan's  voice  rose  on  the  air: 

"  Oh,  bring  some  soap,  why  don't  you  !" 

The  reply  was  Italian.     Dan  resumed: 


244  The  Innocents  Abroad 

"  Soap,  you  know — soap.  That  is  what  I  want 
—  soap.  S-o-a-p,  soap;  s-o-p-e,  soap;  s-o-u-p, 
soap.  Hurry  up !  I  don't  know  how  you  Irish 
spell  it,  but  I  want  it.  Spell  it  to  suit  yourself,  but 
fetch  it.  I'm  freezing." 

I  heard  the  doctor  say,  impressively: 

**  Dan,  how  often  have  we  told  you  that  these 
foreigners  cannot  understand  English?  Why  will 
you  not  depend  upon  us?  Why  will  you  not  tell  us 
what  you  want,  and  let  us  ask  for  it  in  the  language 
of  the  country?  It  would  save  us  a  great  deal  of 
the  humiliation  your  reprehensible  ignorance  causes 
us.  I  will  address  this  person  in  his  mother  tongue : 
'  Here,  cospetto  !  corpo  di  Bacco  !  Sacramento  ! 
Solferino !  —  Soap,  you  son  of  a  gun!'  Dan,  if 
you  would  let  us  talk  for  you,  you  would  never 
expose  your  ignorant  vulgarity." 

Even  this  fluent  discharge  of  Italian  did  not  bring 
the  soap  at  once,  but  there  was  a  good  reason  for  it. 
There  was  not  such  an  article  about  the  establish 
ment.  It  is  my  belief  that  there  never  had  been. 
They  had  to  send  far  up  town,  and  to  several 
different  places  before  they  finally  got  it,  so  they 
said.  We  had  to  wait  twenty  or  thirty  minutes. 
The  same  thing  had  occurred  the  evening  before,  at 
the  hotel.  I  think  I  have  divined  the  reason  for  this 
state  of  things  at  last.  The  English  know  how  to 
travel  comfortably,  and  they  carry  soap  with  them ; 
other  foreigners  do  not  use  the  article. 

At  every  hotel  we  stop  at  we  always  have  to  send 


The  Innocents  Abroad  245 

out  for  soap,  at  the  last  moment,  when  we  are 
grooming  ourselves  for  dinner,  and  they  put  it  in  the 
bill  along  with  the  candles  and  other  nonsense.  In 
Marseilles  they  make  half  the  fancy  toilet  soap  we 
consume  in  America,  but  the  Marseillaise  only  have 
a  vague  theoretical  idea  of  its  use,  which  they  have 
obtained  from  books  of  travel,  just  as  they  have  ac 
quired  an  uncertain  notion  of  clean  shirts,  and  the 
peculiarities  of  the  gorilla,  and  other  curious  matters. 
This  reminds  me  of  poor  Blucher's  note  to  the  land 
lord  in  Paris: 

"  PARIS,  le  7  Juillet. 

"Monsieur  le  Landlord — Sir:  Pourquoi  don't  you  mettez  some 
savon  in  your  bedchambers?  Est-ce  que  vous  pensez  I  »vill  steal  it? 
La  nuit  passte  you  charged  me  pour  deux  chandelles  when  I  only  had 
one;  hier  vous  avez  charged  me  avec glace  when  I  had  none  at  all;  toui 
les  jours  you  are  coming  some  fresh  game  or  other  on  me,  mats  vous  ne 
pouvez  pas  play  this  savon  dodge  on  me  twice.  Savon  is  a  necessary 
de  la  vie  to  anybody  but  a  Frenchman,  et  je  Vaurai  hors  de  cet  hdtel  or 
make  trouble  You  hear  me.  Allans.  BLUCHER." 

I  remonstrated  against  the  sending  of  this  note, 
because  it  was  so  mixed  up  that  the  landlord  would 
never  be  able  to  make  head  or  tail  of  it;  but 
Blucher  said  he  guessed  the  old  man  could  read  the 
French  ot  it  and  average  the  rest. 

Blucher's  French  is  bad  enough,  but  it  is  not 
much  worse  than  the  English  one  finds  in  advertise 
ments  all  over  Italy  every  day.  For  instance,  ob 
serve  the  printed  card  of  the  hotel  we  shall  probably 
stop  at  on  the  shores  of  Lake  Como : 


246  The  Innocents  Abroad 

"NOTISH." 

"This  hotel  which  the  best  it  is  in  Italy  and  most 
superb,  is  handsome  locate  on  the  best  situation  of  the 
lake,  with  the  most  splendid  view  near  the  Villas  Melzy, 
to  the  King  of  Belgian,  and  Serbelloni.  This  hotel  have 
recently  enlarge,  do  offer  all  commodities  on  moderate 
price,  at  the  strangers  gentlemen  who  whish  spend  the 
seasons  on  the  Lake  Come." 

How  is  that  for  a  specimen?  In  the  hotel  is  a 
handsome  little  chapel  where  an  English  clergyman 
is  employed  to  preach  to  such  of  the  guests  of  the 
house  as  hail  from  England  and  America,  and  this 
fact  is  also  set  forth  in  barbarous  English  in  the 
same  advertisement.  Wouldn't  you  have  supposed 
that  the  adventurous  linguist  who  framed  the  card 
would  have  known  enough  to  submit  it  to  that  clergy 
man  before  he  sent  it  to  the  printer? 

Here,  in  Milan,  in  an  ancient  tumble-down  ruin  of 
a  church,  is  the  mournful  wreck  of  the  most  cele 
brated  painting  in  the  world — "  The  Last  Supper," 
by  Leonardo  da  Vinci.  We  are  not  infallible  judges 
of  pictures,  but,  of  course,  we  went  there  to  see  this 
wonderful  painting,  once  so  beautiful,  always  so 
worshiped  by  masters  in  art,  and  forever  to  be 
famous  in  song  and  story.  And  the  first  thing  that 
occurred  was  the  infliction  on  us  of  a  placard  fairly 
reeking  with  wretched  English.  Take  a  morsel  of  it: 

"Bartholomew  (that  is  the  first  figure  on  the  left  hand  side  at  th« 
spectator),  uncertain  and  doubtful  about  what  he  thinks  to  have  heard, 
and  upon  which  he  wants  to  be  assured  by  himself  at  Christ  and  by  no 
others." 


The  Innocents  Abroad  247 

Good,  isn't  it?  And  then  Peter  is  described  as 
"  argumenting  in  a  threatening  and  angrily  condition 
at  Judas  Iscariot." 

This  paragraph  recalls  the  picture.  "The  Last 
Supper"  is  painted  on  the  dilapidated  wall  of  what 
was  a  little  chapel  attached  to  the  main  church  in 
ancient  times,  I  suppose.  It  is  battered  and  scarred 
in  every  direction,  and  stained  and  discolored  by 
time,  and  Napoleon's  horses  kicked  the  legs  off  most 
the  disciples  when  they  (the  horses,  not  the  disciples) 
were  stabled  there  more  than  half  a  century  ago. 

I  recognized  the  old  picture  in  a  moment  —  the 
Saviour  with  bowed  head  seated  at  the  center  of  a 
long,  rough  table  with  scattering  fruits  and  dishes 
upon  it,  and  six  disciples  on  either  side  :n  their  long 
robes,  talking  to  each  other  —  the  picture  from 
which  all  engravings  and  all  copies  have  been  made 
for  three  centuries.  Perhaps  no  living  man  has 
ever  known  an  attempt  to  paint  the  Lord's  Supper 
differently.  The  world  seems  to  have  become  set 
tled  in  the  belief,  long  ago,  that  it  is  not  possible  for 
human  genius  to  outdo  this  creation  of  Da  Vinci's. 
I  suppose  painters  will  go  on  copying  it  as  long  as  any 
of  the  original  is  left  visible  to  the  eye.  There  were  a 
dozen  easels  in  the  room,  and  as  many  artists  trans 
ferring  the  great  picture  to  their  canvases.  Fifty 
proofs  of  steel  engravings  and  lithographs  were 
scattered  around,  too.  And  as  usual,  I  could  not 
help  noticing  how  superior  the  copies  were  to  the 
original,  that  is,  to  my  inexperienced  eye.  Where- 


248  The  Innocents  Abroad 

ever  you  find  a  Raphael,  a  Rubens,  a  Michael 
Angelo,  a  Caracci,  or  a  Da  Vinci  (and  we  see  them 
every  day)  you  find  artists  copying  them,  and  the 
copies  are  always  the  handsomest.  Maybe  the 
originals  were  handsome  when  they  were  new,  but 
they  are  not  now. 

This  picture  is  about  thirty  feet  long,  and  ten  or 
twelve  high,  I  should  think,  and  the  figures  are  at 
least  life  size.  It  is  one  of  the  largest  paintings  in 
Europe. 

The  colors  are  dimmed  with  age ;  the  countenances 
are  scaled  and  marred,  and  nearly  all  expression  is 
gone  from  them ;  the  hair  is  a  dead  blur  upon  the 
wall,  and  there  is  no  life  in  the  eyes.  Only  the 
attitudes  are  certain. 

People  come  here  from  all  parts  of  the  world,  and 
glorify  this  masterpiece.  They  stand  entranced  be 
fore  it  with  bated  breath  and  parted  lips,  and  when 
they  speak,  it  is  only  in  the  catchy  ejaculations  of 
rapture : 

44  Oh,  wonderful!" 

14  Such  expression!" 

"  Such  grace  of  attitude!" 

"Such  dignity!" 

**  Such  faultless  drawing!" 

"  Such  matchless  coloring!" 

44  Such  feeling!" 

41  What  delicacy  of  touch !" 

44  What  sublimity  of  conception!" 

14  A  vision!  a  vision!" 


The  Innocents  Abroad  249 

I  only  envy  these  people;  I  envy  them  their 
honest  admiration,  if  it  be  honest  —  their  delight,  if 
they  feel  delight.  I  harbor  no  animosity  toward 
any  of  them.  But  at  the  same  time  the  thought 
will  intrude  itself  upon  me,  How  can  they  see  what 
is  not  visible?  What  would  you  think  of  a  man 
who  looked  at  some  decayed,  blind,  toothless,  pock 
marked  Cleopatra,  and  said:  "What  matchless 
beauty!  What  soul!  What  expression!"  What 
would  you  think  of  a  man  who  gazed  upon  a  dingy, 
foggy  sunset,  and  said:  "What  sublimity!  what 
feeling !  what  richness  of  coloring  ! ' '  What  would 
you  think  of  a  man  who  stared  in  ecstasy  upon  a 
desert  of  stumps  and  said:  **  Oh,  my  soul,  my  beat 
ing  heart,  what  a  noble  forest  is  here !" 

You  would  think  that  those  men  had  an  astonish 
ing  talent  for  seeing  things  that  had  already  passed 
away.  It  was  what  I  thought  when  I  stood  before 
the  Last  Supper  and  heard  men  apostrophizing 
wonders  and  beauties  and  perfections  which  had 
faded  out  of  the  picture  and  gone,  a  hundred  years 
before  they  were  born.  We  can  imagine  the  beauty 
that  was  once  in  an  aged  face ;  we  can  imagine  the 
forest  if  we  see  the  stumps;  but  we  cannot  abso 
lutely  see  these  things  when  they  are  not  there.  I 
am  willing  to  believe  that  the  eye  of  the  practiced 
artist  can  rest  upon  the  Last  Supper  and  renew  a 
lustre  where  only  a  hint  of  it  is  left,  supply  a  tint 
that  has  faded  away,  restore  an  expression  that  is 
gone;  patch,  and  color,  and  add  to  the  dull  canvas 


250  The  Innocents  Abroad 

until  at  last  its  figures  shall  stand  before  him  aglow 
with  the  life,  the  feeling,  the  freshness,  yea,  with  all 
the  noble  beauty  that  was  theirs  when  first  they 
came  from  the  hand  of  the  master.  But  7  cannot 
work  this  miracle.  Can  those  other  uninspired 
visitors  do  it,  or  do  they  only  happily  imagine  they 
do? 

After  reading  so  much  about  it,  I  am  satisfied  that 
the  Last  Supper  was  a  very  miracle  of  art  once.  But 
it  was  three  hundred  years  ago. 

It  vexes  me  to  hear  people  talk  so  glibly  of  "  feel 
ing,"  "expression,"  "tone,"  and  those  other 
easily-acquired  and  inexpensive  technicalities  of  art 
that  make  such  a  fine  show  in  conversations  concern 
ing  pictures.  There  is  not  one  man  in  seventy-five 
hundred  that  can  tell  what  a  pictured  face  is  intended 
to  express.  There  is  not  one  man  in  five  hundred 
that  can  go  into  a  court-room  and  be  sure  that  he 
will  not  mistake  some  harmless  innocent  of  a  jury 
man  for  the  black-hearted  assassin  on  trial.  Yet 
such  people  talk  of  "character"  and  presume  to 
interpret  "expression"  in  pictures.  There  is  an 
old  story  that  Matthews,  the  actor,  was  once  lauding 
the  ability  of  the  human  face  to  express  the  passions 
and  emotions  hidden  in  the  breast.  He  said  the 
countenance  could  disclose  what  was  passing  in  the 
heart  plainer  than  the  tongue  could. 

"  Now,"  he  said,  *'  observe  my  face  —  what  does 
it  express?" 

"Despair!" 


The  Innocents  Abroad  251 

"Bah,  it  expresses  peaceful  resignation!     What 
does  this  express?" 
44  Rage!" 

-  *  Stuff !  it  means  terror !     This  /' ' 
11  Imbecility!" 
"  Fool !     It  is  smothered  ferocity !     Now  this  /" 

"Joy!" 

"  Oh,  perdition!  Any  ass  can  see  it  means  in 
sanity  ! ' ' 

Expression !  People  coolly  pretend  to  read  it 
who  would  think  themselves  presumptuous  if  they 
pretended  to  interpret  the  hieroglyphics  on  the 
obelisk  of  Luxor  —  yet  they  are  fully  as  competent 
to  do  the  one  thing  as  the  other.  I  have  heard  two 
very  intelligent  critics  speak  of  Murillo's  Immacu 
late  Conception  (now  in  the  museum  at  Seville) 
within  the  past  few  days.  One  said : 

*'  Oh,  the  Virgin's  face  is  full  of  the  ecstasy  of  a 
joy  that  is  complete  —  that  leaves  nothing  more  to 
be  desired  on  earth!" 

The  other  said : 

"  Ah,  that  wonderful  face  is  so  humble,  so  plead 
ing —  it  says  as  plainly  as  words  could  say  it:  'I 
fear ;  I  tremble ;  I  am  unworthy.  But  Thy  will  be 
done;  sustain  Thou  Thy  servant!" 

The  reader  can  see  the  picture  in  any  drawing- 
room;  it  can  be  easily  recognized;  the  Virgin  (the 
only  young  and  really  beautiful  Virgin  that  was  ever 
painted  by  one  of  the  old  masters,  some  of  us  think) 
stands  in  the  crescent  of  the  new  moon,  with  a 


252  The  Innocents  Abroad 

multitude  of  cherubs  hovering  about  her,  and  more 
coming;  her  hands  are  crossed  upon  her  breast,  and 
upon  her  uplifted  countenance  falls  a  glory  out  of 
the  heavens.  The  reader  may  amuse  himself,  if  he 
chooses,  in  trying  to  determine  which  of  these 
gentlemen  read  the  Virgin's  '*  expression  "  aright, 
or  if  either  of  them  did  it. 

Any  one  who  is  acquainted  with  the  old  masters 
will  comprehend  how  much  the  Last  Supper  is 
damaged  when  I  say  that  the  spectator  cannot  really 
tell,  now,  whether  the  disciples  are  Hebrews  or 
Italians.  These  ancient  painters  never  succeeded  in 
denationalizing  themselves.  The  Italian  artists 
painted  Italian  Virgins,  the  Dutch  painted  Dutch 
Virgins,  the  Virgins  of  the  French  painters  were 
Frenchwomen  —  none  of  them  ever  put  into  the  face 
of  the  Madonna  that  indescribable  something  which 
proclaims  the  Jewess,  whether  you  find  her  in  New 
York,  in  Constantinople,  in  Paris,  Jerusalem,  or  in 
the  Empire  of  Morocco.  I  saw  in  the  Sandwich 
Islands,  once,  a  picture,  copied  by  a  talented  Ger 
man  artist  from  an  engraving  in  one  of  the  American 
illustrated  papers.  It  was  an  allegory,  representing 
Mr.  Davis  in  the  act  of  signing  a  secession  act  or 
some  such  document.  Over  him  hovered  the  ghost 
of  Washington  in  warning  attitude,  and  in  the  back 
ground  a  troop  of  shadowy  soldiers  in  Continental 
uniform  were  limping  with  shoeless,  bandaged  feet 
through  a  driving  snowstorm.  Valley  Forge  was 
suggested*  of  course.  The  copy  seemed  accurate, 


The  Innocents  Abroad  253 

and  yet  there  was  a  discrepancy  somewhere.  After 
a  long  examination  I  discovered  what  it  was  —  the 
shadowy  soldiers  were  all  Germans !  Jeff.  Davis  was 
a  German !  even  the  hovering  ghost  was  a  German 
ghost!  The  artist  had  unconsciously  worked  his 
nationality  into  the  picture.  To  tell  the  truth,  I 
am  getting  a  little  perplexed  about  John  the  Baptist 
and  his  portraits.  In  France  I  finally  grew  recon 
ciled  to  him  as  a  Frenchman ;  here  he  is  unquestion 
ably  an  Italian.  What  next?  Can  it  be  possible 
that  the  painters  make  John  the  Baptist  a  Spaniard 
ii>  Madrid  and  an  Irishman  in  Dublin? 

We  took  an  open  barouche  and  drove  two  miles 
out  of  Milan  to  **  see  ze  echo,"  as  the  guide  ex 
pressed  it.  The  road  was  smooth,  it  was  bordered 
by  trees,  fields,  and  grassy  meadows,  and  the  soft 
air  was  filled  with  the  odor  of  flowers.  Troops  of 
picturesque  peasant  girls,  coming  from  work,  hooted 
at  us,  shouted  at  us,  made  all  manner  of  game  of 
us,  and  entirely  delighted  me.  My  long-cherished 
judgment  was  confirmed.  I  always  did  think  those 
frowsy,  romantic,  unwashed  peasant  girls  I  had  read 
so  much  about  in  poetry  were  a  glaring  fraud. 

We  enjoyed  our  jaunt.  It  was  an  exhilarating 
relief  from  tiresome  sightseeing. 

We  distressed  ourselves  very  little  about  the 
astonishing  echo  the  guide  talked  so  much  about. 
We  were  growing  accustomed  to  encomiums  on 
wonders  that  too  often  proved  no  wonders  at  all. 

And  so  we  were  most  happily  disappointed  to  find 
17 


254  The  Innocents  Abroad 

in  the  sequel  that  the  guide  had  even  failed  to  rise  to 
the  magnitude  of  his  subject. 

We  arrived  at  a  tumble-down  old  rookery  called 
the  Palazzo  Simonetti  —  a  massive  hewn-stone  affair 
occupied  by  a  family  of  ragged  Italians.  A  good- 
looking  young  girl  conducted  us  to  a  window  on 
the  second  floor  which  looked  out  on  a  court  walled 
on  three  sides  by  tall  buildings.  She  put  her  head 
out  at  the  window  and  shouted.  The  echo  answered 
more  times  than  we  could  count.  She  took  a  speak 
ing-trumpet  and  through  it  she  shouted,  sharp  and 
quick,  a  single 

"Ha!"     The  echo  answered : 

"  Ha ha  !  ! ha ! ha !  —  ha !  -ha ! 

ha!  h-a-a-a-a-a !"  and  finally  went  off  into  a  rollick 
ing  convulsion  of  the  jolliest  laughter  that  could  be 
imagined.  It  was  so  joyful,  so  long-continued, 
so  perfectly  cordial  and  hearty,  that  everybody  was 
forced  to  join  in.  There  was  no  resisting  it. 

Then  the  girl  took  a  gun  and  fired  it.  We  stood 
ready  to  count  the  astonishing  clatter  of  reverbera 
tions.  We  could  not  say  one,  two,  three,  fast 
enough,  but  we  could  dot  our  note-books  with  our 
pencil-points  almost  rapidly  enough  to  take  down  a 
sort  of  shorthand  report  of  the  result.  My  page 
revealed  the  following  account.  I  could  not  keep 
up,  but  I  did  as  well  as  I  could. 

I  set  down  fifty-two  distinct  repetitions,  and  then 
the  echo  got  the  advantage  of  me.  The  doctor  set 
down  sixty-four,  and  thenceforth  the  echo  moved 


The  Innocents  Abroad  255 

too  fast  for  him,  also.  After  the  separate  concus 
sions  could  no  longer  be  noted,  the  reverberations 
dwindled  to  a  wild,  long-sustained  clatter  of  sounds 
such  as  a  watchman's  rattle  produces.  It  is  likely 
that  this  is  the  most  remarkable  echo  in  the  world. 

The  doctor,  in  jest,  offered  to  kiss  the  young  girl, 
and  was  taken  a  little  aback  when  she  said  he  might 
for  a  franc !  The  commonest  gallantry  compelled 
him  to  stand  by  his  offer,  and  so  he  paid  the  franc 
and  took  the  kiss.  She  was  a  philosopher.  She 
said  a  franc  was  a  good  thing  to  have,  and  she  did 
not  care  anything  for  one  paltry  kiss,  because  she 
had  a  million  left.  Then  our  comrade,  always  a 
shrewd  business  man,  offered  to  take  the  whole  cargo 
at  thirty  days,  but  that  little  financial  scheme  was  a 
failure. 


CHAPTER   XX. 

WE  left  Milan  by  rail.  The  cathedral  six  or 
seven  miles  behind  us  —  vast,  dreamy,  blu 
ish,  snow-clad  mountains  twenty  miles  in  front  of 
us, —  these  were  the  accented  points  in  the  scenery. 
The  more  immediate  scenery  consisted  of  fields  and 
farmhouses  outside -the  car  and  a  monster-headed 
dwarf  and  a  moustached  woman  inside  it.  These  latter 
were  not  show-people.  Alas,  deformity  and  female 
beards  are  too  common  in  Italy  to  attract  attention. 

We  passed  through  a  range  of  wild,  picturesque 
hills,  steep,  wooded,  cone-shaped,  with  rugged  crags 
projecting  here  and  there,  and  with  dwellings  and 
ruinous  castles  perched  away  up  toward  the  drifting 
clouds.  We  lunched  at  the  curious  old  town  of 
Como,  at  the  foot  of  the  lake,  and  then  took  the 
small  steamer  and  had  an  afternoon's  pleasure  ex 
cursion  to  this  place, —  Bellagio. 

When  we  walked  ashore,  a  party  of  policemen 
(people  whose  cocked  hats  and  showy  uniforms 
would  shame  the  finest  uniform  in  the  military 
service  of  the  United  States)  put  us  into  a  little 
stone  cell  and  locked  us  in.  We  had  the  whole 

(256) 


The  Innocents  Abroad  257 

passenger  list  for  company,  but  their  room  would 
have  been  preferable,  for  there  was  no  light,  there 
were  no  windows,  no  ventilation.  It  was  close  and 
hot.  We  were  much  crowded.  It  was  the  Black 
Hole  of  Calcutta  on  a  small  scale.  Presently  a 
smoke  rose  about  our  feet — a  smoke  that  smelt  of 
all  the  dead  things  of  earth,  of  all  the  putrefaction 
and  corruption  imaginable. 

We  were  there  five  minutes,  and  when  we  got  out 
it  was  hard  to  tell  which  of  us  carried  the  vilest 
fragrance. 

These  miserable  outcasts  called  that  *'  fumi 
gating  "  us,  and  the  term  was  a  tame  one,  indeed. 
They  fumigated  us  to  guard  themselves  against  the 
cholera,  though  we  hailed  from  no  infected  port 
We  had  left  the  cholera  far  behind  us  all  the  time. 
However,  they  must  keep,  epidemics  away  somehow 
or  other,  and  fumigation  is  cheaper  than  soap. 
They  must  either  wash  themselves  or  fumigate  other 
people.  Some  of  the  lower  classes  had  rather  die 
than  wash,  but  the  fumigation  of  strangers  causes 
them  no  pangs.  They  need  no  fumigation  them 
selves.  Their  habits  make  it  unnecessary.  They 
carry  their  preventive  with  them ;  they  sweat  and 
fumigate  all  the  day  long.  I  trust  I  am  a  humble 
and  a  consistent  Christian.  I  try  to  do  what 
is  right.  I  know  it  is  my  duty  to  **  pray  for 
them  that  despitefully  use  me";  and  therefore, 
hard  as  it  is,  I  shall  still  try  to  pray  for  these 
fumigating,  macaroni-stuffing  organ-grinders. 


258  The  Innocents  Abroad 

Our  hotel  sits  at  the  water's  edge  —  at  least  its 
front  garden  does  —  and  we  walk  among  the  shrub 
bery  and  smoke  at  twilight;  we  look  afar  off  at 
Switzerland  and  the  Alps,  and  feel  an  indolent 
willingness  to  look  no  closer;  we  go  down  the  steps 
and  swim  in  the  lake ;  we  take  a  shapely  little  boat 
and  sail  abroad  among  the  reflections  of  the  stars; 
lie  on  the  thwarts  and  listen  to  the  distant  laughter, 
the  singing,  the  soft  melody  of  flutes  and  guitars 
that  comes  floating  across  the  water  from  pleasuring 
gondolas ;  we  close  the  evening  with  exasperating 
billiards  on  one  of  those  same  old  execrable  tables. 
A  midnight  luncheon  in  our  ample  bed-chamber;  a 
final  smoke  in  its  contracted  veranda  facing  the 
water,  the  gardens,  and  the  mountains;  a  summing 
up  of  the  day's  events.  Then  to  bed,  with  drowsy 
brains  harassed  with  a  mad  panorama  that  mixes  up 
pictures  of  France,  of  Italy,  of  the  ship,  of  the 
ocean,  of  home,  in  grotesque  and  bewildering  dis 
order  Then  a  melting  away  of  familiar  faces,  of 
cities  and  of  tossing  waves,  into  a  great  calm  of 
forgetfulness  and  peace. 

After  which,  the  nightmare. 

Breakfast  in  the  morning,  and  then  the  lake. 

I  did  nof  like  it  yesterday.  1  thought  Lake  Tahoe 
was  much  finer.  I  have  to  confess  now,  however, 
that  my  judgment  erred  somewhat,  though  not  ex 
travagantly.  I  always  had  an  idea  that  Como  was  a 
vast  basin  of  water,  like  Tahoe,  shut  in  by  great 
mountains.  Well,  the  border  of  huge  mountains  is 


The  Innocents  Abroad  259 

here,  but  the  lake  itself  is  not  a  basin.  It  is  as 
crooked  as  any  brook,  and  only  from  one-quarter  to 
two-thirds  as  wide  as  the  Mississippi.  There  is  not 
a  yard  of  low  ground  on  either  side  of  it  —  nothing 
but  endless  chains  of  mountains  that  spring  abruptly 
from  the  water's  edge,  and  tower  to  altitudes  varying 
from  a  thousand  to  two  thousand  feet.  Their  craggy 
sides  are  clothed  with  vegetation,  and  white  specks 
of  houses  peep  out  from  the  luxuriant  foliage  every 
where;  they  are  even  perched  upon  jutting  and 
picturesque  pinnacles  a  thousand  feet  above  your 
head. 

Again,  for  miles  along  the  shores,  handsome 
country  seats,  surrounded  by  gardens  and  groves, 
sit  fairly  in  the  water,  sometimes  in  nooks  carved  by 
Nature  out  of  the  vine-hung  precipices,  and  with  no 
ingress  or  egress  save  by  boats.  Some  have  great 
broad  stone  staircases  leading  down  to  the  water, 
with  heavy  stone  balustrades  ornamented  with 
statuary  and  fancifully  adorned  with  creeping  vines 
and  bright-colored  flowers  —  for  all  the  world  like  a 
drop-curtain  in  a  theater,  and  lacking  nothing  but 
long-waisted,  high-heeled  women  and  plumed  gal 
lants  in  silken  tights  coming  down  to  go  serenading 
in  the  splendid  gondola  in  waiting. 

A  great  feature  of  Como's  attractiveness  is  the 
multitude  of  pretty  houses  and  gardens  that  cluster 
upon  its  shores  and  on  its  mountain  sides.  They 
look  so  snug  and  so  homelike,  and  at  eventide  when 
everything  seems  to  slumber,  and  the  music  of  the 


260  The  Innocents  Abroad 

vesper  bells  comes  stealing  over  the  water,  one 
almost  believes  that  nowhere  else  than  on  the  Lake 
of  Como  can  there  be  found  such  a  paradise  of 
tranquil  repose. 

From  my  window  here  in  Bellagio,  I  have  a  view 
of  the  other  side  of  the  lake  now,  which  is  as  beau 
tiful  as  a  picture.  A  scarred  and  wrinkled  precipice 
rises  to  a  height  of  eighteen  hundred  feet ;  on  a  tiny 
bench  half  way  up  its  vast  wall,  sits  a  little  snow- 
flake  of  a  church,  no  bigger  than  a  martin-box,  ap 
parently;  skirting  the  base  of  the  cliff  are  a  hundred 
orange  groves  and  gardens,  flecked  with  glimpses  of 
the  white  dwellings  that  are  buried  in  them;  in 
front,  three  or  four  gondolas  lie  idle  upon  the  water 
—  and  in  the  burnished  mirror  of  the  lake,  mountain, 
chapel,  houses,  groves,  and  boats  are  counterfeited 
so  brightly  and  so  clearly  that  one  scarce  knows 
where  the  reality  leaves  off  and  the  reflection  begins ! 

The  surroundings  of  this  picture  are  fine.  A 
mile  away,  a  grove-plumed  promontory  juts  far  into 
the  lake  and  glasses  its  palace  in  the  blue  depths ;  in 
midstream  a  boat  is  cutting  the  shining  surface  and 
leaving  a  long  track  behind,  like  a  ray  of  light;  the 
mountains  beyond  are  veiled  in  a  dreamy  purple 
haze;  far  in  the  opposite  direction  a  tumbled  mass 
of  domes  and  verdant  slopes  and  valleys  bars  the 
lake,  and  here,  indeed,  does  distance  lend  enchant 
ment  to  the  view  —  for  on  this  broad  canvas,  sun  and 
clouds  and  the  richest  of  atmospheres  have  blended 
a  thousand  tints  together,  and  over  its  surface  the 


The  Innocents  Abroad  261 

filmy  lights  and  shadows  drift,  hour  after  hour,  and 
glorify  it  with  a  beauty  that  seems  reflected  out  of 
Heaven  itself.  Beyond  all  question,  this  is  the  most 
voluptuous  scene  we  have  yet  looked  upon. 

Last  night  the  scenery  was  striking  and  pictur 
esque.  On  the  other  side  crags  and  trees  and  snowy 
houses  were  reflected  in  the  lake  with  a  wonderful 
distinctness,  and  streams  of  light  from  many  a  dis 
tant  window  shot  far  abroad  over  the  still  waters. 
On  this  side,  near  at  hand,  great  mansions,  white 
with  moonlight,  glared  out  from  the  midst  of  masses 
of  foliage  that  lay  black  and  shapeless  in  the  shad 
ows  that  fell  from  the  cliff  above  —  and  down  in  the 
margin  of  the  lake  every  feature  of  the  weird  vision 
was  faithfully  repeated. 

To-day  we  have  idled  through  a  wonder  of  a 
garden  attached  to  a  ducal  estate  —  but  enough  of 
description  is  enough,  I  judge.  I  suspect  that  this 
was  the  same  place  the  gardener's  son  deceived  the 
Lady  of  Lyons  with,  but  I  do  not  know.  You  may 
have  heard  of  the  passage  somewhere : 

"A  deep  vale, 

Shut  out  by  Alpine  hills  from  the  rude  world, 
Near  a  clear  lake  margined  by  fruits  of  gold 
And  whispering  myrtles: 
Glassing  softest  skies,  cloudless,    , 
Save  with  rare  and  roseate  shadows; 
A  palace,  lifting  to  eternal  heaven  its  marbled  walls, 
From  out  a  glossy  bower  of  coolest  foliage  musical 
with  birds." 

That  is  all  very  well,  except  the  "  clear  "  part  of 


262  The  Innocents  Abroad 

the  lake.  It  certainly  is  clearer  than  a  great  many 
lakes,  but  how  dull  its  waters  are  compared  with  the 
wonderful  transparence  of  Lake  Tahoe  !  I  speak  of 
the  north  shore  of  Tahoe,  where  one  can  count  the 
scales  on  a  trout  at  a  depth  of  a  hundred  and  eighty 
feet.  I  have  tried  to  get  this  statement  off  at  par 
here,  but  with  no  success;  so  I  have  been  obliged 
to  negotiate  it  at  fifty  per  cent,  discount.  At  this 
rate  I  find  some  takers;  perhaps  the  reader  will 
receive  it  on  the  same  terms  —  ninety  feet  instead  of 
one  hundred  and  eighty.  But  let  it  be  remembered 
that  those  are  forced  terms  —  sheriffs-sale  prices. 
As  far  as  I  am  privately  concerned,  I  abate  not  a 
jot  of  the  original  assertion  that  in  those  strangely- 
magnifying  waters  one  may  count  the  scales  on  a 
trout  (a  trout  of  the  large  kind)  at  a  depth  of  a 
hundred  and  eighty  feet  —  may  see  every  pebble  on 
the  bottom  —  might  even  count  a  paper  of  dray- 
pins.  People  talk  of  the  transparent  waters  of  the 
Mexican  Bay  of  Acapulco,  but  in  my  own  experience 
I  know  they  cannot  compare  with  those  I  am  speak 
ing  of.  I  have  fished  for  trout  in  Tahoe,  and  at  a 
measured  depth  of  eighty-four  feet  I  have  seen 
them  put  their  noses  to  the  bait  and  I  could 
see  their  gills  open  and  shut.  I  could  hardly  have 
seen  the  trout  themselves  at  that  distance  in  the 
open  air. 

As  I  go  back  in  spirit  and  recall  that  noble  sea, 
reposing  among  the  snow-peaks  six  thousand  feet 
above  the  ocean,  the  conviction  comes  strong  upon 


The  Innocents  Abroad  263 

me  again  that  Como  would  only  seem  a  bedizened 
little  courtier  in  that  august  presence. 

Sorrow  and  misfortune  overtake  the  legislature 
that  still  from  year  to  year  permits  Tahoe  to  retain 
its  unmusical  cognomen !  Tahoe !  It  suggests  no 
crystal  waters,  no  picturesque  shores,  no  sublimity. 
Tahoe  for  a  sea  in  the  clouds ;  a  sea  that  has  char 
acter,  and  asserts  it  in  solemn  calms,  at  times,  at 
times  in  savage  storms ;  a  sea,  whose  royal  seclusion 
is  guarded  by  a  cordon  of  sentinel  peaks  that  lift 
their  frosty  fronts  nine  thousand  feet  above  the  level 
world ;  a  sea  whose  every  aspect  is  impressive, 
whose  belongings  are  all  beautiful,  whose  lonely 
majesty  types  the  Deity  ! 

Tahoe  means  grasshoppers.  It  means  grasshopper 
soup.  It  is  Indian,  and  suggestive  of  Indians.  They 
say  it  is  Pi-ute  —  possibly  it  is  Digger.  I  am  satis 
fied  it  was  named  by  the  Diggers  —  those  degraded 
savages  who  roast  their  dead  relatives,  then  mix  the 
human  grease  and  ashes  of  bones  with  tar,  and 
"  gaum  "  it  thick  all  over  their  heads  and  foreheads 
and  ears,  and  go  caterwauling  about  the  hills  and 
call  it  mourning.  These  are  the  gentry  that  named 
the  lake. 

People  say  that  Tahoe  means  "  Silver  Lake'* — 
"Limpid  Water"— "Falling  Leaf."  Bosh!  It 
means  grasshopper  soup,  the  favorite  dish  of  the 
Digger  tribe  —  and  of  the  Pi-utes  as  well.  It  isn't 
worth  while,  in  these  practical  times,  for  people  to 
talk  about  Indian  poetry  —  there  never  was  any  in 


264  The  Innocents  Abroad 

them  —  except  in  the  Fenimore  Cooper  Indians. 
But  they  are  an  extinct  tribe  that  never  existed.  1 
know  the  Noble  Red  Man.  I  have  camped  with  the 
Indians:  I  have  been  on  the  warpath  with  them, 
taken  part  in  the  chase  with  them  —  for  grass 
hoppers  ;  helped  them  steal  cattle ;  I  have  roamed 
with  them,  scalped  them,  had  them  for  breakfast. 
I  would  gladly  eat  the  whole  race  if  I  had  a  chance. 
But  I  am  growing  unreliable.  I  will  return  to  my 
comparison  of  the  lakes.  Como  is  a  little  deeper 
than  Tahoe,  if  people  here  tell  the  truth.  They  say 
it  is  eighteen  hundred  feet  deep  at  this  point,  but  it 
does  not  look  a  dead  enough  blue  for  that.  Tahoe 
is  one  thousand  five  hundred  and  twenty-five  feet 
deep  in  the  center,  by  the  State  Geologist's  measure 
ment.  They  say  the  great  peak  opposite  this  town 
is  five  thousand  feet  high ;  but  I  feel  sure  that  three 
thousand  feet  of  that  statement  is  a  good,  honest  lie. 
The  lake  is  a  mile  wide  here,  and  maintains  about 
that  width  from  this  point  to  its  northern  extremity 
—  which  is  distant  sixteen  miles ;  from  here  to  its 
southern  extremity  —  say  fifteen  miles  —  it  is  not 
over  half  a  mile  wide  in  any  place,  I  should  think. 
Its  snow-clad  mountains  one  hears  so  much  about 
are  only  seen  occasionally,  and  then  in  the  distance, 
the  Alps.  Tahoe  is  from  ten  to  eighteen  miles 
wide,  and  its  mountains  shut  it  in  like  a  wall.  Their 
summits  are  never  free  from  snow  the  year  round. 
One  thing  about  it  is  very  strange :  it  never  has  even 
a  skim  of  ice  upon  its  surface,  although  lakes  in  the 


The  Innocents  Abroad  265 

same   range    of   mountains,   lying   in   a   lower   and 
warmer  temperature,  freeze  over  in  winter. 

It  is  cheerful  to  meet  a  shipmate  in  these  out-of- 
the-way  places  and  compare  notes  with  him.  We 
have  found  one  of  ours  here  —  an  old  soldier  of  the 
war,  who  is  seeking  bloodless  adventures  and  rest 
from  his  campaigns,  in  these  sunny  lands.* 

*  Col.  J.  HERON  FOSTER,  editor  of  a  Pittsburgh  journal,  and  a  most 
estimable  gentleman.  As  these  sheets  are  being  prepared  for  the  press, 
I  am  pained  to  learn  of  his  decease  shortly  after  his  return  home. 
—  M.T. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

WE  voyaged  by  steamer  down  the  Lago  di  Lecco, 
through  wild  mountain  scenery,  and  by  ham 
lets  and  villas,  and  disembarked  at  the  town  of 
Lecco.  They  said  it  was  two  hours,  by  carriage,  to 
the  ancient  city  of  Bergamo,  and  that  we  would 
arrive  there  in  good  season  for  the  railway  train. 
We  got  an  open  barouche  and  a  wild,  boisterous 
driver,  and  set  out.  It  was  delightful.  We  had  a 
fast  team  and  a  perfectly  smooth  road.  There  were 
towering  cliffs  on  our  left,  and  the  pretty  Lago  di 
Lecco  on  our  right,  and  every  now  and  then  it 
rained  on  us.  Just  before  starting,  the  driver  picked 
up,  in  the  street,  a  stump  of  a  cigar  an  inch  long, 
and  put  it  in  his  mouth.  When  he  had  carried  it 
thus  about  an  hour,  I  thought  it  would  be  only 
Christian  charity  to  give  him  a  light.  I  handed  him 
my  cigar,  which  I  had  just  lit,  and  he  put  it  in  his 
mouth  and  returned  his  stump  to  his  pocket !  I 
never  saw  a  more  sociable  man.  At  least  I  never 
saw  a  man  who  was  more  sociable  on  a  short  ac 
quaintance. 

We  saw  interior  Italy  now.     The  houses  were  of 

(266) 


The  Innocents  Abroad  267 

solid  stone,  and  not  often  in  good  repair.  The 
peasants  and  their  children  were  idle,  as  a  general 
thing,  and  the  donkeys  and  chickens  made  them 
selves  at  home  in  drawing-room  and  bed-chamber 
and  were  not  molested.  The  drivers  of  each  and 
every  one  of  the  slow-moving  market-carts  we  met 
were  stretched  in  the  sun  upon  their  merchandise, 
sound  asleep.  Every  three  or  four  hundred  yards, 
it  seemed  to  me,  we  came  upon  the  shrine  of  some 
saint  or  other  —  a  rude  picture  of  him  built  into  a 
huge  cross  or  a  stone  pillar  by  the  roadside.  Some 
of  the  pictures  of  the  Saviour  were  curiosities  in 
their  way.  They  represented  him  stretched  upon 
the  cross,  his  countenance  distorted  with  agony. 
From  the  wounds  of  the  crown  of  thorns ;  from  the 
pierced  side;  from  the  mutilated  hands  and  feet; 
from  the  scourged  body  —  from  every  hand-breadth 
of  his  person,  streams  of  blood  were  flowing!  Such 
a  gory,  ghastly  spectacle  would  frighten  the  children 
out  of  their  senses,  I  should  think.  There  were 
some  unique  auxiliaries  to  the  painting  which  added 
to  its  spirited  effect.  These  were  genuine  wooden 
and  iron  implements,  and  were  prominently  disposed 
round  about  the  figure :  a  bundle  of  nails ;  the 
hammer  to  drive  them ;  the  sponge ;  the  reed  that 
supported  it;  the  cup  of  vinegar;  the  ladder  for  the 
ascent  of  the  cross;  the  spear  that  pierced  the 
Saviour's  side.  The  crown  of  thorns  was  made  of 
real  thorns,  and  was  nailed  to  the  sacred  head.  In 
some  Italian  church  paintings,  even  by  the  old 


268  The  Innocents  Abroad 

masters,  the  Saviour  and  the  Virgin  wear  silver  or 
gilded  crowns  that  are  fastened  to  the  pictured  head 
with  nails.  The  effect  is  as  grotesque  as  it  is  incon 
gruous. 

Here  and  there,  on  the  fronts  of  roadside  inns, 
we  found  huge,  coarse  frescoes  of  suffering  martyrs 
like  those  in  the  shrines.  It  could  not  have  dimin 
ished  their  sufferings  any  to  be  so  uncouthly  repre 
sented.  We  were  in  the  heart  and  home  of  priest 
craft —  of  a  happy,  cheerful,  contented  ignorance, 
superstition,  degradation,  poverty,  indolence,  and 
everlasting  unaspiring  worthlessness.  And  we  said 
fervently,  It  suits  these  people  precisely ;  let  them 
enjoy  it,  along  with  the  other  animals,  and  Heaven 
forbid  that  they  be  molested.  We  feel  no  malice 
toward  these  fumigators. 

We  passed  through  the  strangest,  funniest,  un 
dreamt-of  old  towns,  wedded  to  the  customs  and 
steeped  in  the  dreams  of  the  elder  ages,  and  per 
fectly  unaware  that  the  world  turns  round  !  And 
perfectly  indifferent,  too,  as  to  whether  it  turns 
around  or  stands  still.  They  have  nothing  to  do  but 
eat  and  sleep  and  sleep  and  eat,  and  toil  a  little 
when  they  can  get  a  friend  to  stand  by  and  keep 
them  awake.  They  are  not  paid  for  thinking  —  they 
are  not  paid  to  fret  about  the  world's  concerns. 
They  were  not  respectable  people  —  they  were  not 
worthy  people  —  they  were  not  learned  and  wise 
and  brilliant  people  —  but  in  their  breasts,  all  their 
stupid  lives  long,  resteth  a  peace  that  passeth  under- 


The  Innocents  Abroad  269 

standing!     How  can  men,  calling  themselves  men, 
consent  to  be  so  degraded  and  happy. 

We  whisked  by  many  a  gray  old  medieval  castle, 
clad  thick  with  ivy  that  swung  its  green  banners 
down  from  towers  and  turrets  where  once  some  old 
Crusader's  flag  had  floated.  The  driver  pointed  to 
one  of  these  ancient  fortresses,  and  said  (I  trans 
late)  : 

"  Do  you  see  that  great  iron  hook  that  projects 
from  the  wall  just  under  the  highest  window  in  the 
ruined  tower?" 

We  said  we  could  not  see  it  at  such  a  distance, 
but  had  no  doubt  it  was  there. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "there  is  a  legend  connected 
with  that  iron  hook.  Nearly  seven  hundred  years 
ago,  that  castle  was  the  property  of  the  noble  Count 
Luigi  Gennaro  Guido  Alphonso  di  Genova " 

"  What  was  his  other  name?"  said  Dan. 

"  He  had  no  other  name.  The  name  I  have 
spoken  was  all  the  name  he  had.  He  was  the  son 
of " 

"Poor  but  honest  parents  —  that  is  all  right  — 
never  mind  the  particulars  —  go  on  with  the  legend." 

THE    LEGEND. 

Well,  then,  all  the  world,  at  that  time,  was  in  a 
wild  excitement  about  the  Holy  Sepulchre.  All  the 
great  feudal  lords  in  Europe  were  pledging  their 
lands  and  pawning  their  plate  to  fit  out  men-at-arms 
so  that  they  might  join  the  grand  armies  of  Christen- 


270  The  Innocents  Abroad 

dom  and  win  renown  in  the  Holy  Wars.  The  Count 
Luigi  raised  money,  like  the  rest,  and  one  mild 
September  morning,  armed  with  battle-axe,  portcullis 
and  thundering  culverin,  he  rode  through  the  greaves 
and  bucklers  of  his  donjon-keep  with  as  gallant  a 
troop  of  Christian  bandits  as  ever  stepped  in  Italy. 
He  had  his  sword,  Excalibur,  with  him.  His  beau 
tiful  countess  and  her  young  daughter  waved  him  a 
tearful  adieu  from  the  battering-rams  and  buttresses 
of  the  fortress,  and  he  galloped  away  with  a  happy 
heart. 

He  made  a  raid  on  a  neighboring  baron  and  com 
pleted  his  outfit  with  the  booty  secured.  He  then 
razed  the  castle  to  the  ground,  massacred  the  family, 
and  moved  on.  They  were  hardy  fellows  in  the 
grand  old  days  of  chivalry.  Alas !  those  days  will 
never  come  again. 

Count  Luigi  grew  high  in  fame  in  Holy  Land. 
He  plunged  into  the  carnage  of  a  hundred  battles, 
but  his  good  Excalibur  always  brought  him  out 
alive,  albeit  often  sorely  wounded.  His  face  be 
came  browned  by  exposure  to  the  Syrian  sun  in 
long  marches;  he  suffered  hunger  and  thirst;  he 
pined  in  prisons,  he  languished  in  loathsome  plague- 
hospitals.  And  many  and  many  a  time  he  thought 
of  his  loved  ones  at  home,  and  wondered  if  all  was 
well  with  them.  But  his  heart  said,  Peace,  is  not 
thy  brother  watching  over  thy  household  ? 

•  ••••• 

Forty-two  years  waxed  and  waned ;  the  good  fight 


The  Innocents  Abroad  271 

was  won ;  Godfrey  reigned  in  Jerusalem  —  the  Chris 
tian  hosts  reared  the  banner  of  the  cross  above  the 
Holy  Sepulchre ! 

Twilight  was  approaching.  Fifty  harlequins,  in 
flowing  robes,  approached  this  castle  wearily,  for 
they  were  on  foot,  and  the  dust  upon  their  garments 
betokened  that  they  had  traveled  far.  They  over 
took  a  peasant,  and  asked  him  if  it  were  likely  they 
could  get  food  and  a  hospitable  bed  there,  for  love 
of  Christian  charity,  and  if,  perchance,  a  moral 
parlor  entertainment  might  meet  with  generous 
countenance — "for,"  said  they,  "this  exhibition 
hath  no  feature  that  could  offend  the  most  fastidious 
taste." 

"  Marry,"  quoth  the  peasant,  *'  an'  it  please  your 
worships,  ye  had  better  journey  many  a  good  rood 
hence  with  your  juggling  circus  than  trust  your  bones 
in  yonder  castle." 

"  How  now,  sirrah!"  exclaimed  the  chief  monk, 
"  explain  thy  ribald  speech,  or  by'r  Lady  it  shall  go 
hard  with  thee." 

11  Peace,  good  mountebank,  I  did  but  utter  the 
truth  that  was  in  my  heart.  San  Paolo  be 
my  witness  that  did  ye  but  find  the  stout  Count 
Leonardo  in  his  cups,  sheer  from  the  castle's  top 
most  battlements  would  he  hurl  ye  all!  Alack-a- 
day !  the  good  Lord  Luigi  reigns  not  here  in  these 
sad  times." 

"The  good  Lord  Luigi?" 

"  Aye,  none  other,  please  your  worship.     In  his 


272  The  Innocents  Abroad 

day,  the  poor  rejoiced  in  plenty  and  the  rich  he  did 
oppress;  taxes  were  not  known,  the  fathers  of  the 
church  waxed  fat  upon  his  bounty;  travelers  went 
and  came,  with  none  to  interfere;  and  whosoever 
would,  might  tarry  in  his  halls  in  cordial  welcome, 
and  eat  his  bread  and  drink  his  wine,  withal.  But 
woe  is  me !  some  two  and  forty  years  agone  the 
good  count  rode  hence  to  fight  for  Holy  Cross,  and 
many  a  year  hath  flown  since  word  or  token  have  we 
had  of  him.  Men  say  his  bones  lie  bleaching  in  the 
fields  of  Palestine.0 

"And  now?'* 

**  Now  !  God  'a  mercy,  the  cruel  Leonardo  lords 
it  in  the  castle.  He  wrings  taxes  from  the  poor ; 
he  robs  all  travelers  that  journey  by  his  gates ;  he 
spends  his  days  in  feuds  and  murders,  and  his  nights 
in  revel  and  debauch;  he  roasts  the  fathers  of  the 
church  upon  his  kitchen  spits,  and  enjoyeth  the 
same,  calling  it  pastime.  These  thirty  years  Luigi's 
countess  hath  not  been  seen  by  any  he  in  all  this 
land,  and  many  whisper  that  she  pines  in  the 
dungeons  of  the  castle  for  that  she  will  not  wed 
with  Leonardo,  saying  her  dear  lord  still  liveth  and 
that  she  will  die  ere  she  prove  false  to  him.  They 
whisper  likewise  that  her  daughter  is  a  prisoner  as 
well.  Nay,  good  jugglers,  seek  ye  refreshment 
otherwheres.  'Twere  better  that  ye  perished  in  a 
Christian  way  than  that  ye  plunged  from  off  yon 
dizzy  tower.  Give  ye  good-day." 

"  God  keep  ye,  gentle  knave  —  farewell." 


The  Innocents  Abroad  273 

But  heedless  of  the  peasant's  warning,  the  players 
moved  straightway  toward  the  castle. 

Word  was  brought  to  Count  Leonardo  that  a 
company  of  mountebanks  besought  his  hospitality. 

*'  'Tis  well.  Dispose  of  them  in  the  customary 
manner.  Yet  stay !  I  have  need  of  them.  Let 
them  come  hither.  Later,  cast  them  from  the 
battlements  —  or  —  how  many  priests  have  ye  on 
hand?" 

"  The  day's  results  are  meager,  good  my  lord. 
An  abbot  and  a  dozen  beggarly  friars  is  all  we  have." 

*'  Hell  and  furies!  Is  the  estate  going  to  seed? 
Send  hither  the  mountebanks.  Afterward,  broil 
them  with  the  priests." 

The  robed  and  close-cowled  harlequins  entered. 
The  grim  Leonardo  sate  in  state  at  the  head  of  his 
council  board.  Ranged  up  and  down  the  hall  on 
either  hand  stood  near  a  hundred  men-at-arms. 

"  Ha,  villains!"  quoth  the  count,  "  What  can  ye 
do  to  earn  the  hospitality  ye  crave?" 

14  Dread  lord  and  mighty,  crowded  audiences  have 
greeted  our  humble  efforts  with  rapturous  applause. 
Among  our  body  count  we  the  versatile  and  talented 
Ugolino ;  the  justly  celebrated  Rodolpho ;  the  gifted 
and  accomplished  Roderigo ;  the  management  have 
spared  neither  pains  nor  expense " 

"S'death!  what  can  ye  do?  Curb  thy  prating 
tongue." 

"  Good  my  lord,  in  acrobatic  feats,  in  practice 
with  the  dumb-bells,  in  balancing  and  ground  and 
18. 


274  The  Innocents  Abroad 

lofty  tumbling  are  we  versed  —  and  sith  your  high 
ness  asketh  me,  I  venture  here  to  publish  that  in  the 
truly  marvelous  and  entertaining  Zampiilaerosta- 
tion " 

44  Gag  him  !  throttle  him  !  Body  of  Bacchus  !  am 
I  a  dog  that  I  am  to  be  assailed  with  polysyllabled 
blasphemy  like  to  this?  But  hold  !  Lucretia,  Isabel, 
stand  forth !  Sirrah,  behold  this  dame,  this  weep 
ing  wench.  The  first  I  marry,  within  the  hour;  the 
other  shall  dry  her  tears  or  feed  the  vultures.  Thou 
and  thy  vagabonds  shall  crown  the  wedding  with  thy 
merry-makings.  Fetch  hither  the  priest!" 

The  dame  sprang  toward  the  chief  player. 

44  Oh,  save  me!"  she  cried;  4<  save  me  from  a 
fate  far  worse  than  death !  Behold  these  sad  eyes, 
these  sunken  cheeks,  this  withered  frame !  See  thou 
the  wreck  this  fiend  hath  made,  and  let  thy  heart  be 
moved  with  pity !  Look  upon  this  damosel ;  note 
her  wasted  form,  her  halting  step,  her  bloomless 
cheeks  where  youth  should  blush  and  happiness 
exult  in  smiles !  Hear  us,  and  have  compassion. 
This  monster  was  my  husband's  brother.  He  who 
should  have  been  our  shield  against  all  harm,  hath 
kept  us  shut  within  the  noisome  caverns  of  his 
donjon-keep  for,  lo,  these  thirty  years.  And  for 
what  crime?  None  other  than  that  I  would  not 
belie  my  troth,  root  out  my  strong  love  for  him  who 
marches  with  the  legions  of  the  cross  in  Holy  Land 
(for  oh,  he  is  not  dead),  and  wed  with  himl  Save 
us,  oh,  save  thy  persecuted  suppliants!" 


The  Innocents  Abroad  2/5 

She  flung  herself  at  his  feet  and  clasped  his  knees* 

"  Ha!-ha!-ha!"  shouted  the  brutal  Leonardo. 
"Priest,  to  thy  work!"  and  he  dragged  the  weep 
ing  dame  from  her  refuge.  "  Say,  once  for  all, 
will  you  be  mine?  —  for  by  my  halidome,  that 
breath  that  uttereth  thy  refusal  shall  be  thy  last  on 
earth!" 

"NE-VER!" 

"Then  die!"  and  the  sword  leaped  from  its 
scabbard. 

Quicker  than  thought,  quicker  than  the  lightning'* 
flash,  fifty  monkish  habits  disappeared,  and  fift> 
knights  in  splendid  armor  stood  revealed!  fifty 
falchions  gleamed  in  air  above  the  men-at-arms,  and 
brighter,  fiercer  than  them  all,  flamed  Excalibur 
aloft,  and  cleaving  downward  struck  the  brutal 
Leonardo's  weapon  from  his  grasp ! 

"  A  Luigi  to  the  rescue !     Whoop  !" 

"  A  Leonardo  !  tare  an  ouns !" 

"  Oh,  God,  oh,  God,  my  husband  1" 

"  Oh,  God,  oh,  God,  my  wife!1' 

"My  father!" 

"  My  precious !"     [Tableau.] 

Count  Luigi  bound  his  usurping  brother  hand  and 
foot.  The  practiced  knights  from  Palestine  made 
holiday  sport  of  carving  the  awkward  men-at-arms 
into  chops  and  steaks.  The  victory  was  complete. 
Happiness  reigned.  The  knights  all  married  the 
daughter.  Joy !  wassail !  finis ! 

"fc  But  what  did  they  do  with  the  wicked  brother?" 


276  The  Innocents  Abroad 

41  Oh,  nothing — only  hanged  him  on  that  Jron 
hook  I  was  speaking  of.  By  the  chin." 

"As  how?" 

"  Passed  it  up  through  his  gills  into  his  mouth." 

"  Leave  him  there?" 

**  Couple  of  years." 

"Ah  — is  — is  he  dead?" 

14  Six  hundred  and  fifty  years  ago,  or  such  a 
matter." 

"  Splendid  legend  —  splendid  lie  —  drive  on." 

We  reached  the  quaint  old  fortified  city  of  Ber 
gamo,  the  renowed  in  history,  some  three-quarters 
of  an  hour  before  the  train  was  ready  to  start.  The 
place  has  thirty  or  forty  thousand  inhabitants  and  is 
remarkable  for  being  the  birthplace  of  harlequin. 
When  we  discovered  that,  that  legend  of  our  driver 
took  to  itself  a  new  interest  in  our  eyes. 

Rested  and  refreshed,  we  took  the  rail  happy  and 
contented.  I  shall  not  tarry  to  speak  of  the  hand 
some  Lago  di  Garda;  its  stately  castle  that  holds  in 
its  stony  bosom  the  secrets  of  an  age  so  remote  that 
even  tradition  goeth  not  back  to  it;  the  imposing 
mountain  scenery  that  ennobles  the  landscape  there 
abouts;  nor  yet  of  ancient  Padua  or  haughty 
Verona;  nor  of  their  Montagues  and  Capulets, 
their  famous  balconies  and  tombs  of  Juliet  and 
Romeo  et  at.,  but  hurry  straight  to  the  ancient  city 
of  the  sea,  the  widowed  bride  of  the  Adriatic.  It 
was  a  long,  long  ride.  But  toward  evening,  as  we 
sat  silent  and  hardly  conscious  of  where  we  were  — 


The  Innocents  Abroad  277 

subdued  into  that  meditative  calm  that  comes  so 
surely  after  a  conversational  storm — ^some  one 
shouted : 

"VENICE!" 

And  sure  enough,  afloat  on  the  placid  sea  a 
league  away,  lay  a  great  city,  witti  its  towers  and 
domes  and  steeples  drowsing  in  a  golden  mist  of 
suaset. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

THIS  Venice,  which  was  a  haughty,  invincible, 
magnificent  Republic  for  nearly  fourteen  hun 
dred  years;  whose  armies  compelled  the  world's  ap 
plause  whenever  and  wherever  they  battled ;  whose 
navies  well  nigh  held  dominion  of  the  seas,  and 
whose  merchant  fleets  whitened  the  remotest  oceans 
with  their  sails  and  loaded  these  piers  with  the  pro 
ducts  of  every  clime,  is  fallen  a  prey  to  poverty, 
neglect  and  melancholy  decay.  Six  hundred  years 
ago,  Venice  was  the  Autocrat  of  Commerce;  her 
mart  was  the  great  commercial  center,  the  distrib 
uting  house  from  whence  the  enormous  trade  of  the 
Orient  was  spread  abroad  over  the  Western  world. 
To-day  her  piers  are  deserted,  her  warehouses  are 
empty,  her  merchant  fleets  are  vanished,  her  armies 
and  her  navies  are  but  memories.  Her  glory  is  de 
parted,  and  with  her  crumbling  grandeur  of  wharves 
and  palaces  about  her  she  sits  among  her  stagnant 
lagoons,  forlorn  and  beggared,  forgotten  of  the 
world.  She,  that  in  her  palmy  days  commanded  the 
commerce  of  a  hemisphere  and  made  the  weal  or 
woe  of  nations  with  a  beck  of  her  puissant  finger,  is 

(278) 


The  Innocents  Abroad  279 

become  the  humblest  among  the  peoples  of  the 
earth, —  a  peddler  of  glass  beads  for  women,  and 
trifling  toys  and  trinkets  for  school-girls  and  children. 

The  venerable  Mother  of  the  Republics  is  scarce  a 
fit  subject  for  flippant  speech  or  the  idle  gossiping 
of  tourists.  It  seems  a  sort  of  sacrilege  to  disturb 
the  glamour  of  old  romance  that  pictures  her  to 
us  softly  from  afar  off  as  through  a  tinted  mist,  and 
curtains  her  ruin  and  her  desolation  from  our  view. 
One  ought,  indeed,  to  turn  away  from  her  rags,  her 
poverty,  and  her  humiliation,  and  think  of  her  only 
as  she  was  when  she  sunk  the  fleets  of  Charlemagne ; 
when  she  humbled  Frederick  Barbarossa  or  waved 
her  victorious  banners  above  the  battlements  of  Con 
stantinople. 

We  reached  Venice  at  eight  in  the  evening,  and 
entered  a  hearse  belonging  to  the  Grand  Hotel 
d'Europe.  At  any  rate,  it  was  more  like  a  hearse 
than  anything  else,  though,  to  speak  by  the  card,  it 
was  a  gondola.  And  this  was  the  storied  gondola 
of  Venice !  —  the  fairy  boat  in  which  the  princely 
cavaliers  of  the  olden  time  were  wont  to  cleave  the 
waters  of  the  moonlit  canals  and  look  the  eloquence 
of  love  into  the  soft  eyes  of  patrician  beauties,  while 
the  gay  gondolier  in  silken  doublet  touched  his 
guitar  and  sang  as  only  gondoliers  can  sing !  This 
the  famed  gondola  and  this  the  gorgeous  gondolier ! 
—  the  one  an  inky,  rusty  old  canoe  with  a  sable 
hearse-body  clapped  on  to  the  middle  of  it,  and  the 
other  a  mangy,  barefooted  gutter-snipe  with  a  por- 


280  The  Innocents  Abroad 

tion  of  his  raiment  on  exhibition  which  should  have 
been  sacred  from  public  scrutiny.  Presently,  as  he 
turned  a  corner  and  shot  his  hearse  into  a  dismal 
ditch  between  two  long  rows  of  towering,  untenanted 
buildings,  the  gay  gondolier  began  to  sing,  true  to 
the  traditions  of  his  race.  I  stood  it  a  little  while. 
Then  I  said : 

"  Now,  here,  Roderigo  Gonzales  Michael  Angelo, 
I'm  a  pilgrim,  and  I'm  a  stranger,  but  I  am  not 
going  to  have  my  feelings  lacerated  by  any  such 
caterwauling  as  that.  If  that  goes  on,  one  of  us 
has  got  to  take  water.  It  is  enough  that  my  cher 
ished  dreams  of  Venice  have  been  blighted  forever 
as  to  the  romantic  gondola  and  the  gorgeous  gon 
dolier;  this  system  of  destruction  shall  go  no 
farther;  I  will  accept  the  hearse,  under  protest,  and 
you  may  fly  your  flag  of  truce  in  peace,  but  here  I 
register  a  dark  and  bloody  oath  that  you  shan't  sing. 
Another  yelp,  and  overboard  you  go." 

I  began  to  feel  that  the  old  Venice  of  song  and 
story  had  departed  forever.  But  I  was  too  hasty. 
In  a  few  minutes  we  swept  gracefully  out  into  the 
Grand  Canal,  and  under  the  mellow  moonlight  the 
Venice  of  poetry  and  romance  stood  revealed. 
Right  from  the  water's  edge  rose  long  lines  of 
stately  palaces  of  marble;  gondolas  were  gliding 
swiftly  hither  and  thither  and  disappearing  suddenly 
through  unsuspected  gates  and  alleys;  ponderous 
stone  bridges  threw  their  shadows  athwart  the  glit 
tering  waves.  There  was  life  and  motion  every- 


The  Innocents  Abroad  281 

where,  and  yet  everywhere  there  was  a  hush,  a 
stealthy  sort  of  stillness,  that  was  suggestive  of  secret 
enterprises  of  bravoes  and  of  lovers;  and,  clad  half 
in  moonbeams  and  half  in  mysterious  shadows,  the 
grim  old  mansions  of  the  Republic  seemed  to  have 
an  expression  about  them  of  having  an  eye  out  for 
just  such  enterprises  as  these  at  that  same  moment. 
Music  came  floating  over  the  waters  —  Venice  was 
complete. 

It  was  a  beautiful  picture  —  very  soft  and  dreamy 
and  beautiful.  But  what  was  this  Venice  to  com 
pare  with  the  Venice  of  midnight?  Nothing.  There 
was  a  fete  —  a  grand  fete  in  honor  of  some  saint 
who  had  been  instrumental  in  checking  the  cholera 
three  hundred  years  ago,  and  all  Venice  was  abroad 
on  the  water.  It  was  no  common  affair,  for  the 
Venetians  did  not  know  how  soon  they  might  need 
the  saint's  services  again,  now  that  the  cholera  was 
spreading  everywhere.  So  in  one  vast  space  —  say 
a  third  of  a  mile  wide  and  two  miles  long  —  were 
collected  two  thousand  gondolas,  and  every  one  of 
them  had  from  two  to  ten,  twenty,  and  even  thirty 
colored  lanterns  suspended  about  it,  and  from  four 
to  a  dozen  occupants.  Just  as  far  as  the  eye  could 
reach,  these  painted  lights  were  massed  together  — 
like  a  vast  garden  of  many-colored  flowers,  except 
that  these  blossoms  were  never  still;  they  were 
ceaselessly  gliding  in  and  out,  and  mingling  to 
gether,  and  seducing  you  into  bewildering  attempts 
to  follow  their  mazy  evolutions.  Here  and  there  a 


282  The  Innocents  Abroad 

strong  red,  green,  or  blue  glare  from  a  rocket  that 
was  struggling  to  get  away  splendidly  illuminated  all 
the  boats  around  it.  Every  gondola  that  swam  by 
us,  with  its  crescents  and  pyramids  and  circles  of 
colored  lamps  hung  aloft,  and  lighting  up  the  faces 
of  the  young  and  the  sweet-scented  and  lovely 
below,  was  a  picture ;  and  the  reflections  of  those 
lights,  so  long,  so  slender,  so  numberless,  so  many- 
colored  and  so  distorted  and  wrinkled  by  the  waves, 
was  a  picture  likewise,  and  one  that  was  enchantingly 
beautiful.  Many  and  many  a  party  of  young  ladies 
and  gentlemen  had  their  state  gondolas  handsomely 
decorated,  and  ate  supper  on  board,  bringing  their 
swallow-tailed,  white-cravated  varlets  to  wait  upon 
them,  and  having  their  tables  tricked  out  as  if  for  a 
bridal  supper.  They  had  brought  along  the  costly 
globe  lamps  from  their  drawing-rooms,  and  the  lace 
and  silken  curtains  from  the  same  places,  I  suppose. 
And  they  had  also  brought  pianos  and  guitars,  and 
they  played  and  sang  operas,  while  the  plebeian 
paper-lanterned  gondolas  from  the  suburbs  and  the 
back  alleys  crowded  around  to  stare  and  listen. 

There  was  music  everywhere  —  choruses,  string 
bands,  brass  bands,  flutes,  everything.  I  was  so 
surrounded,  walled  in  with  music,  magnificence,  and 
loveliness,  that  I  became  inspired  with  the  spirit  of 
the  scene,  and  sang  one  tune  myself.  However, 
when  I  observed  that  the  other  gondolas  had  sailed 
away,  and  my  gondolier  was  preparing  to  go  over 
board,  I  stopped. 


The  Innocents  Abroad  283 

The  f£te  was  magnificent.  They  kept  it  up  the 
whole  night  long,  and  I  never  enjoyed  myself  better 
than  I  did  while  it  lasted. 

What  a  funny  old  city  this  Queen  of  the  Adriatic 
is !  Narrow  streets,  vast,  gloomy  marble  palaces, 
black  with  the  corroding  damps  of  centuries,  and  all 
partly  submerged ;  no  dry  land  visible  anywhere, 
and  no  sidewalks  worth  mentioning;  if  you  want  to 
go  to  church,  to  the  theater,  or  to  the  restaurant, 
you  must  call  a  gondola.  It  must  be  a  paradise  for 
cripples,  for  verily  a  man  has  no  use  for  legs  here. 

For  a  day  or  two  the  place  looked  so  like  an 
overflowed  Arkansas  town,  because  of  its  currentless 
waters  laving  the  very  doorsteps  of  all  the  houses, 
and  the  cluster  of  boats  made  fast  under  the  win 
dows,  or  skimming  in  and  out  of  the  alleys  and  by 
ways,  that  I  could  not  get  rid  of  the  impression  that 
there  was  nothing  the  matter  here  but  a  spring 
freshet,  and  that  the  river  would  fall  in  a  few  weeks 
and  leave  a  dirty  high-water  mark  on  the  houses, 
and  the  streets  full  of  mud  and  rubbish. 

In  the  glare  of  day,  there  is  little  poetry  about 
Venice,  but  under  the  charitable  moon  her  stained 
palaces  are  white  again,  their  battered  sculptures  are 
hidden  in  shadows,  and  the  old  city  seems  crowned 
once  more  with  the  grandeur  that  was  hers  five  hun 
dred  years  ago.  It  is  easy,  then,  in  fancy,  to  people 
these  silent  canals  with  plumed  gallants  and  fair 
ladies  —  with  Shylocks  in  gaberdine  and  sandals, 
venturing  loans  upon  the  rich  argosies  of  Venetian 


284  The  Innocents  Abroad 

commerce  —  with  Othellos  and  Desdemonas,  with 
lagos  and  Roderigos  —  with  noble  fleets  and  victori 
ous  legions  returning  from  the  wars.  In  the  treach 
erous  sunlight  we  see  Venice  decayed,  forlorn, 
poverty-stricken,  and  commerceless  —  forgotten  and 
utterly  insignificant.  But  in  the  moonlight,  her 
fourteen  centuries  of  greatness  fling  their  glories 
about  her,  and  once  more  is  she  the  princeliest 
among  the  nations  of  the  earth. 

"  There  is  a  glorious  city  in  the  sea; 
The  sea  is  in  the  broad,  the  narrow  streets, 
Ebbing  and  flowing;  and  the  salt  sea- weed 
Oings  to  the  marble  of  her  palaces. 
No  track  of  men,  no  footsteps  to  and  fro, 
Lead  to  her  gates !    The  path  lies  o'er  the  sea, 
Invisible :  and  from  the  land  we  went, 
As  to  a  floating  city  —  steering  in, 
And  gliding  up  her  streets,  as  in  a  dream, 
So  smoothly,  silently  —  by  many  a  dome, 
Mosque-like,  and  many  a  stately  portico, 
The  statues  ranged  along  an  azure  sky; 
By  many  a  pile,  in  more  than  Eastern  pride, 
Of  old  the  residence  of  merchant  kings; 
The  fronts  of  some,  tho'  time  had  shatter'd  them, 
Still  glowing  with  the  richest  hues  of  art, 
As  tho'  the  wealth  within  them  had  run  o'er." 

What  would  one  naturally  wish  to  see  first  in 
Venice?  The  Bridge  of  Sighs,  of  course  —  and  next 
the  Church  and  the  Great  Square  of  St.  Mark,  the 
Bronze  Horses,  and  the  famous  Lion  of  St.  Mark. 

We  intended  to  go  to  the  Bridge  of  Sighs,  but 
happened  into  the  Ducal  Palace  first  —  a  building 


The  Innocents  Abroad  285 

which  necessarily  figures  largely  in  Venetian  poetry 
and  tradition.  In  the  Senate  Chamber  of  the  ancient 
Republic  we  wearied  our  eyes  with  staring  at  acres 
ef  historical  paintings  by  Tintoretto  and  Paul 
Veronese,  but  nothing  struck  us  forcibly  except  the 
one  thing  that  strikes  all  strangers  forcibly  —  a 
black  square  in  the  midst  of  a  gallery  of  portraits. 
In  one  long  row,  around  the  great  hall,  were  painted 
the  portraits  of  the  doges  of  Venice  (venerable 
fellows,  with  flowing  white  beards,  for  of  the  three 
hundred  Senators  eligible  to  the  office,  the  oldest 
was  usually  chosen  doge),  and  each  had  its  compli 
mentary  inscription  attached  —  till  you  came  to  the 
place  that  should  have  had  Marino  Faliero's  picture 
in  it,  and  that  was  blank  and  black  —  blank,  except 
that  it  bore  a  terse  inscription,  saying  that  the  con 
spirator  had  died  for  his  crime.  It  seemed  cruel  to 
keep  that  pitiless  inscription  still  staring  from  the 
walls  after  the  unhappy  wretch  had  been  in  his  grave 
five  hundred  years. 

At  the  head  of  the  Giant's  Staircase,  where  Marino 
Faliero  was  beheaded,  and  where  the  doges  were 
crowned  in  ancient  times,  two  small  slits  in  the  stone 
wall  were  pointed  out  —  two  harmless,  insignificant 
orifices  that  would  never  attract  a  stranger's  atten 
tion —  yet  these  were  the  terrible  Lions'  Mouths! 
The  heads  were  gone  (knocked  off  by  the  French 
during  their  occupation  of  Venice),  but  these  were 
the  throats,  down  which  went  the  anonymous  accu 
sation,  thrust  in  secretly  at  dead  of  night  by  an 

10 


286  The  Innocents  Abroad 

enemy,  that  doomed  many  an  innocent  man  to  walk 
the  Bridge  of  Sighs  and  descend  into  the  dungeon 
which  none  entered  and  hoped  to  see  the  sun  again. 
This  was  in  the  old  days  when  the  Patricians  alone 
governed  Venice  —  the  common  herd  had  no  vote 
and  no  voice.  There  were  one  thousand  five  hun 
dred  Patricians;  from  these,  three  hundred  Senators 
were  chosen ;  from  the  Senators  a  Doge  and  a 
Council  of  Ten  were  selected,  and  by  secret  ballot 
the  Ten  chose  from  their  own  number  a  Council  of 
Three.  All  these  were  government  spies,  then,  and 
every  spy  was  under  surveillance  himself — men 
spoke  in  whispers  in  Venice,  and  no  man  trusted  his 
neighbor  —  not  always  his  own  brother.  No  man 
knew  who  the  Council  of  Three  were  —  not  even 
the  Senate,  not  even  the  Doge;  the  members  of 
that  dread  tribunal  met  at  night  in  a  chamber  to 
themselves,  masked,  and  robed  from  head  to  foot  in 
scarlet  cloaks,  and  did  not  even  know  each  other, 
unless  by  voice.  It  was  their  duty  to  judge  heinous 
political  crimes,  and  from  their  sentence  there  was 
no  appeal.  A  nod  to  the  executioner  was  sufficient. 
The  doomed  man  was  marched  down  a  hall  and  out 
at  a  doorway  into  the  covered  Bridge  of  Sighs, 
through  it  and  into  the  dungeon  and  unto  his  death. 
At  no  time  in  his  transit  was  he  visible  to  any  save 
his  conductor.  If  a  man  had  an  enemy  in  those  old 
days,  the  cleverest  thing  he  could  do  was  to  slip  a 
note  for  the  Council  of  Three  into  the  Lion's  mouth, 
saying  *'  This  man  is  plotting  against  tne  govern- 


The  Innocents  Abroad  287 

ment."  If  the  awful  Three  found  no  proof,  ten  to 
one  they  would  drown  him  anyhow,  because  he  was 
a  deep  rascal,  since  his  plots  were  unsolvable. 
Masked  judges  and  masked  executioners,  with  un 
limited  power,  and  no  appeal  from  their  judgments, 
in  that  hard,  cruel  age,  were  not  likely  to  be  lenient 
with  men  they  suspected  yet  could  not  convict. 

We  walked  through  the  hall  of  the  Council  of 
Ten,  and  presently  entered  the  infernal  den  of  the 
Council  of  Three. 

The  table  around  which  they  had  sat  was  there 
still,  and  likewise  the  stations  where  the  masked 
inquisitors  and  executioners  formerly  stood,  frozen, 
upright  and  silent,  till  they  received  a  bloody  order, 
and  then,  without  a  word,  moved  off,  like  the  inex 
orable  machines  they  were,  to  carry  it  out.  The 
frescoes  on  the  walls  were  startlingly  suited  to  the 
place.  In  all  the  other  saloons,  the  halls,  the  great 
state  chambers  of  the  palace,  the  walls  and  ceilings 
were  bright  with  gilding,  rich  with  elaborate  carving, 
and  resplendent  with  gallant  pictures  of  Venetian 
victories  in  war,  and  Venetian  display  in  foreign 
courts,  and  hallowed  with  portraits  of  the  Virgin, 
the  Saviour  of  men,  and  the  holy  saints  that 
preached  the  Gospel  of  Peace  upon  earth  —  but 
here,  in  dismal  contrast,  were  none  but  pictures  of 
death  and  dreadful  suffering !  —  not  a  living  figure 
but  was  writhing  in  torture,  not  a  dead  one  but  was 
smeared  with  blood,  gashed  with  wounds,  and  dis 
torted  with  the  agonies  that  had  taken  away  its  life ! 


288  The  Innocents  Abroad 

From  the  palace  to  the  gloomy  prison  is  but  a 
step  —  one  might  almost  jump  across  the  narrow 
canal  that  intervenes.  The  ponderous  stone  Bridge 
of  Sighs  crosses  it  at  the  second  story  —  a  bridge 
that  is  a  covered  tunnel  —  you  cannot  be  seen  when 
you  walk  in  it.  It  is  partitioned  lengthwise,  and 
through  one  compartment  walked  such  as  bore  light 
sentences  in  ancient  times,  and  through  the  other 
marched  sadly  the  wretches  whom  the  Three  had 
doomed  to  lingering  misery  and  utter  oblivion  in  the 
dungeons,  or  to  sudden  and  mysterious  death. 
Down  below  the  level  of  the  water,  by  the  light  of 
smoking  torches,  we  were  shown  the  damp,  thick- 
walled  cells  where  many  a  proud  patrician's  life  was 
eaten  away  by  the  long-drawn  miseries  of  solitary 
imprisonment  —  without  light,  air,  books;  naked, 
unshaven,  uncombed,  covered  with  vermin;  his  use 
less  tongue  forgetting  its  office,  with  none  to  speak 
to;  the  days  and  nights  of  his  life  no  longer  marked, 
but  merged  into  one  eternal  eventless  night;  far 
away  from  all  cheerful  sounds,  buried  in  the  silence 
of  a  tomb;  forgotten  by  his  helpless  friends,  and 
his  fate  a  dark  mystery  to  them  forever;  losing  his 
own  memory  at  last,  and  knowing  no  more  who  he 
was  or  how  he  came  there ;  devouring  the  loaf  of 
bread  and  drinking  the  water  that  were  thrust  into 
the  cell  by  unseen  hands,  and  troubling  his  worn 
spirit  no  more  with  hopes  and  fears  and  doubts  and 
longings  to  be  free ;  ceasing  to  scratch  vain  prayers 
and  complainings  on  walls  where  none,  not  even 


The  Innocents  Abroad  289 

himself,  could  see  them,  and  resigning  himself  to 
hopeless  apathy,  driveling  childishness,  lunacy! 
Many  and  many  a  sorrowful  story  like  this  these 
stony  walls  could  tell  if  they  could  but  speak. 

In  a  little  narrow  corridor,  near  by,  they  showed 
us  where  many  a  prisoner,  after  lying  in  the  dun 
geons  until  he  was  forgotten  by  all  save  his  perse 
cutors,  was  brought  by  masked  executioners  and 
garroted,  or  sewed  up  in  a  sack,  passed  through  a 
little  window  to  a  boat,  at  dead  of  night,  and  taken 
to  some  remote  spot  and  drowned. 

They  used  to  show  to  visitors  the  implements  of 
torture  wherewith  the  Three  were  wont  to  worm 
secrets  out  of  the  accused  —  villainous  machines  for 
crushing  thumbs;  the  stocks  where  a  prisoner  sat 
immovable  while  water  fell  drop  by  drop  upon  his 
head  till  the  torture  was  more  than  humanity  could 
bear ;  and  a  devilish  contrivance  of  steel,  which  in 
closed  a  prisoner's  head  like  a  shell,  and  crushed  it 
slowly  by  means  of  a  screw.  It  bore  the  stains  of 
blood  that  had  trickled  through  its  joints  long  ago, 
and  on  one  side  it  had  a  projection  whereon  the  tor 
turer  rested  his  elbow  comfortably  and  bent  down 
his  ear  to  catch  the  moanings  of  the  sufferer  perish 
ing  within. 

Of  course,  we  went  to  see  the  venerable  relic  of 
the  ancient  glory  of  Venice,  with  its  pavements  woin 
and  broken  by  the  passing  feet  of  a  thousand  years 
of  plebeians  and  patricians  —  The  Cathedral  of  St. 
Mark.  It  is  built  entirely  of  precious  marbles, 
Id. 


290  The  Innocents  Abroad 

brought  from  the  Orient — nothing  in  its  composi 
tion  is  domestic.  Its  hoary  traditions  make  it  an 
object  of  absorbing  interest  to  even  the  most  careless 
stranger,  and  thus  far  it  had  interest  for  me ;  but  no 
further.  I  could  not  go  into  ecstasies  over  its  coarse 
mosaics,  its  unlovely  Byzantine  architecture,  or  its 
five  hundred  curious  interior  columns  from  as  many 
distant  quarries.  Everything  was  worn  out  —  every 
block  of  stone  was  smooth  and  almost  shapeless 
with  the  polishing  hands  and  shoulders  of  loungers 
who  devoutly  idled  here  in  bygone  centuries  and 
have  died  and  gone  to  the  dev  —  no,  simply  died,  I 
mean. 

Under  the  altar  repose  the  ashes  of  St.  Mark  — 
and  Matthew,  Luke,  and  John,  too,  for  all  I  know. 
Venice  reveres  those  relics  above  all  things  earthly. 
For  fourteen  hundred  years  St.  Mark  has  been  her 
patron  saint.  Everything  about  the  city  seems  to  be 
named  after  him  or  so  named  as  to  refer  to  him  in 
someway — so  named,  or  some  purchase  rigged  in 
some  way  to  scrape  a  sort  of  hurrahing  acquaintance 
with  him.  That  seems  to  be  the  idea.  To  be  on 
good  terms  with  St.  Mark  seems  to  be  the  very 
summit  of  Venetian  ambition.  They  say  St.  Mark 
had  a  tame  lion,  and  used  to  travel  with  him  —  and 
everywhere  that  St.  Mark  went,  the  lion  was  sure  to 
go.  It  was  his  protector,  his  friend,  his  librarian. 
And  so  the  Winged  Lion  of  St.  Mark,  with  the  open 
Bible  under  his  paw,  is  a  favorite  emblem  in  the 
grand  old  city.  It  casts  its  shadow  from  the  most 


The  Innocents  Abroad  291 

ancient  pillar  in  Venice,  in  the  Grand  Square  of  St. 
Mark,  upon  the  throngs  of  free  citizens  below,  and 
has  so  done  for  many  a  long  century.  The  winged 
lion  is  found  everywhere  —  and  doubtless  here, 
where  the  winged  lion  is,  no  harm  can  come. 

St.  Mark  died  at  Alexandria,  in  Egypt.  He  was 
martyred,  I  think.  However,  that  has  nothing  to 
do  with  my  legend.  About  the  founding  of  the  city 
of  Venice  —  say  four  hundred  and  fifty  years  after 
Christ  (for  Venice  is  much  younger  that  any  other 
Italian  city)  —  a  priest  dreamed  that  an  angel  told 
him  that  until  the  remains  of  St.  Mark  were  brought 
to  Venice,  the  city  could  never  rise  to  high  distinc 
tion  among  the  nations;  that  the  body  must  be 
captured,  brought  to  the  city,  and  a  magnificent 
church  built  over  it ;  and  that  if  ever  the  Venetians 
allowed  the  Saint  to  be  removed  from  his  new  rest 
ing  place,  in  that  day  Venice  would  perish  from  off 
the  face  of  the  earth.  The  priest  proclaimed  his 
dream,  and  forthwith  Venice  set  about  procuring  the 
corpse  of  St.  Mark.  One  expedition  after  another 
tried  and  failed,  but  the  project  was  never  abandoned 
during  four  hundred  years.  At  last  it  was  secured 
by  stratagem,  in  the  year  eight  hundred  and  some 
thing.  The  commander  of  a  Venetian  expedition 
disguised  himself,  stole  the  bones,  separated  them, 
and  packed  them  in  vessels  filled  with  lard.  The 
religion  of  Mahomet  causes  its  devotees  to  abhor 
anything  that  is  in  the  nature  of  pork,  and  so  when 
the  Christian  was  stopped  by  the  officers  at  the 


292  The  Innocents  Abroad 

gates  of  the  city,  they  only  glanced  once  into  his 
precious  baskets,  then  turned  up  their  noses  at  the 
unholy  lard,  and  let  him  go.  The  bones  were  buried 
in  the  vaults  of  the  grand  cathedral,  which  had  been 
waiting  long  years  to  receive  them,  and  thus  the 
safety  and  the  greatness  of  Venice  were  secured. 
And  to  this  day  there  be  those  in  Venice  who  believe 
that  if  those  holy  ashes  were  stolen  away,  the  ancient 
city  would  vanish  like  a  dream,  and  its  foundations 
be  buried  forever  in  the  unremembering  sea. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

PE  Venetian  gondola  is  as  free  and  graceful,  in 
its  gliding  movement,  as  a  serpent.  It  is 
twenty  or  thirty  feet  long,  and  is  narrow  and  deep, 
like  a  canoe ;  its  sharp  bow  and  stern  sweep  upward 
from  the  water  like  the  horns  of  a  crescent  with  the 
abruptness  of  the  curve  slightly  modified. 

The  bow  is  ornamented  with  a  steel  comb  with  a 
battle-axe  attachment  which  threatens  to  cut  passing 
boats  in  two  occasionally,  but  never  does.  The 
gondola  is  painted  black  because  in  the  zenith  of 
Venetian  magnificence  the  gondolas  became  too 
gorgeous  altogether,  and  the  Senate  decreed  that  all 
such  display  must  cease,  and  a  solemn,  unembel- 
lished  black  be  substituted.  If  the  truth  were 
known,  it  would  doubtless  appear  that  rich  plebeians 
grew  too  prominent  in  their  affectation  of  patrician 
show  on  the  Grand  Canal,  and  required  a  wholesome 
snubbing.  Reverence  for  the  hallowed  Past  and  its 
traditions  keeps  the  dismal  fashion  in  force  now  that 
the  compulsion  exists  no  longer.  So  let  it  remain. 
It  is  the  color  of  mourning.  Venice  mourns.  The 
stern  of  the  boat  is  decked  over  and  the  gondolier 

(293) 


294  The  Innocents  Abroad 

stands  there.  He  uses  a  single  oar  —  a  long  blade, 
of  course,  for  he  stands  nearly  erect.  A  wooden 
peg,  a  foot  and  a  half  high,  with  two  slight  crooks 
or  curves  in  one  side  of  it  and  one  in  the  other, 
projects  above  the  starboard  gunwale.  Against  that 
peg  the  gondolier  takes  a  purchase  with  his  oar, 
changing  it  at  intervals  to  the  other  side  of  the  peg 
or  dropping  it  into  another  of  the  crooks,  as  the 
steering  of  the  craft  may  demand  —  and  how  in  the 
world  he  can  back  and  fill,  shoot  straight  ahead,  or 
flirt  suddenly  around  a  corner,  and  make  the  oar 
stay  in  those  insignificant  notches,  is  a  problem  to 
me  and  a  never-diminishing  matter  of  interest.  I 
am  afraid  I  study  the  gondoliers  marvelous  skill 
more  than  I  do  the  sculptured  palaces  ,ve  glide 
among.  He  cuts  a  corner  so  closely,  now  and  then, 
or  misses  another  gondola  by  such  an  imperceptible 
hair-breadth,  that  I  feel  myself  "  scrooching,"  as  the 
children  say,  just  as  one  does  when  a  buggy  wheel 
grazes  his  elbow.  But  he  makes  all  his  calculations 
with  the  nicest  precision,  and  goes  darting  in  and 
out  among  a  Broadway  confusion  of  busy  craft  with 
the  easy  confidence  of  the  educated  hackman.  He 
never  makes  a  mistake. 

Sometimes  we  go  flying  down  the  great  canals  at 
such  a  gait  that  we  can  get  only  the  merest  glimpses 
into  front  doors,  and  again,  in  obscure  alleys  in  the 
suburbs,  we  put  on  a  solemnity  suited  to  the  silence, 
the  mildew,  the  stagnant  waters,  the  clinging  weeds, 
the  deserted  houses,  and  the  general  lifelessness 


The  Innocents  Abroad  295 

of  the  place,  and  move  to  the  spirit  of  grave  medi 
tation. 

The  gondolier  is  a  picturesque  rascal  for  all  he 
wears  no  satin  harness,  no  plumed  bonnet,  no  silken 
tights.  His  attitude  is  stately ;  he  is  lithe  and  sup 
ple  ;  all  his  movements  are  full  of  grace.  When  his 
long  canoe,  and  his  fine  figure,  towering  from  its 
high  perch  on  the  stern,  are  cut  against  the  evening 
sky,  they  make  a  picture  that  is  very  novel  and 
striking  to  a  foreign  eye. 

We  sit  in  the  cushioned  carriage-body  of  a  cabin, 
with  the  curtains  drawn,  and  smoke,  or  read,  or 
look  out  upon  the  passing  boats,  the  houses,  the 
bridges,  the  people,  and  enjoy  ourselves  much  more 
than  we  could  in  a  buggy  jolting  over  our  cobble 
stone  pavements  at  home.  This  is  the  gentlest, 
pleasantest  locomotion  we  have  ever  known. 

But  it  seems  queer  —  ever  so  queer  —  to  see  a 
boat  doing  duty  as  a  private  carriage.  We  see  busi 
ness  men  come  to  the  front  door,  step  into  a  gon 
dola,  instead  of  a  street  car,  and  go  off  down  town 
to  the  counting-room. 

We  see  visiting  young  ladies  stand  on  the  stoop, 
and  laugh,  and  kiss  good-bye,  and  flirt  their  fans 
and  say  '*  Come  soon  —  now  do  —  you've  been  just 
as  mean  as  ever  you  can  be  —  mother's  dying  to  see 
you  —  and  we've  moved  into  the  new  house,  oh, 
such  a  love  of  a  place  !  —  so  convenient  to  the  post- 
office  and  the  church,  and  the  Young  Men's  Chris 
tian  Association ;  and  we  do  have  such  fishing,  and 


296  The  Innocents  Abroad 

such  carrying  on,  and  such  swimming-matches  in 
the  back  yard  —  Oh,  you  must  come  —  no  distance 
at  all,  and  if  you  go  down  through  by  St.  Mark's 
and  the  Bridge  of  Sighs,  and  cut  through  the  alley 
and  come  up  by  the  church  of  Santa  Maria  dei 
Frari,  and  into  the  Grand  Canal,  there  isn't  a  bit  of 
current — now  do  come,  Sally  Maria  —  by-bye!" 
and  then  the  little  humbug  trips  down  the  steps, 
jumps  into  the  gondola,  says,  under  her  breath, 
"Disagreeable  old  thing,  I  hope  she  won't!" 
goes  skimming  away,  round  the  corner;  and  the 
other  girl  slams  the  street  door  and  says,  "Well, 
that  infliction's  over,  anyway, —  but  I  suppose  I've 
got  to  go  and  see  her — tiresome,  stuck-up  thing!" 
*  Human  nature  appears  to  be  just  the  same,  all  over 
the  world.  We  see  the  diffident  young  man,  mild 
of  moustache,  affluent  of  hair,  indigent  of  brain, 
elegant  of  costume,  drive  up  to  her  father's  man 
sion,  tell  his  hackman  to  bail  out  and  wait,  start 
fearfully  up  the  steps  and  meet  "  the  old  gentle 
man  "  right  on  the  threshold  !  — hear  him  ask  what 
street  the  new  British  Bank  is  in  —  as  if  that  were 
what  he  came  for  —  and  then  bounce  into  his  boat 
and  skurry  away  with  his  coward  heart  in  his  boots ! 
—  see  him  come  sneaking  around  the  corner  again, 
directly,  with  a  crack  of  the  curtain  open  toward  the 
old  gentleman's  disappearing  gondola,  and  out 
scampers  his  Susan  with  a  flock  of  little  Italian  en 
dearments  fluttering  from  her  lips,  and  goes  to  drive 
with  him  in  the  watery  avenues  down  toward  the  Rialto 


The  Innocents  Abroad  297 

We  see  the  ladies  go  out  shopping,  in  the  most 
natural  way,  and  flit  from  street  to  street  and  from 
store  to  store,  just  in  the  good  old  fashion,  except 
that  they  leave  the  gondola,  instead  of  a  private 
carriage,  waiting  at  the  curbstone  a  couple  of  hours 
for  them, —  waiting  while  they  make  the  nice  young 
clerks  pull  down  tons  and  tons  of  silks  and  velvets 
and  moire  antiques  and  those  things ;  and  then  they 
buy  a  paper  of  pins  and  go  paddling  away  to  confer 
the  rest  of  their  disastrous  patronage  on  some  other 
firm.  And  they  always  have  their  purchases  sent  _J 
home  just  in  the  good  old  way.  Human  nature  is 
very  much  the  same  all  over  the  world ;  and  it  is  so 
like  my  dear  native  home  to  see  a  Venetian  lady  go 
into  a  store  and  buy  ten  cents'  worth  of  blue  ribbon 
and  have  it  sent  home  in  a  scow.  Ah,  it  is  these 
little  touches  of  nature  that  move  one  to  tears  in 
these  far-off  foreign  lands. 

We  see  little  girls  and  boys  go  out  in  gondolas 
with  their  nurses,  for  an  airing.  We  see  staid 
families,  with  prayer  book  and  beads,  enter  the 
gondola  dressed  in  their  Sunday  best,  and  float 
away  to  church.  And  at  midnight  we  see  the 
theater  break  up  and  discharge  its  swarm  of  hilarious 
youth  and  beauty ;  we  hear  the  cries  of  the  hackman- 
gondoliers,  and  behold  the  struggling  crowd  jump 
aboard,  and  the  black  multitude  of  boats  go  skim 
ming  down  the  moonlit  avenues;  we  see  them 
separate  here  and  there,  and  disappear  up  divergent 
streets;  we  hear  the  faint  sounds  of  laughter  and. of 


298  The  Innocents  Abroad 

shouted  farewells  floating  up  out  of  the  distance; 
and  then,  the  strange  pageant  being  gone,  we  have 
lonely  stretches  of  glittering  water  —  of  stately 
buildings  —  of  blotting  shadows  —  of  weird  stone 
faces  creeping  into  the  moonlight — of  deserted 
bridges  —  of  motionless  boats  at  anchor.  And 
over  all  broods  that  mysterious  stillness,  that 
stealthy  quiet,  that  befits  so  well  this  old  dreaming 
Venice. 

We  have  been  pretty  much  everywhere  in  our 
gondola.  We  have  bought  beads  and  photographs 
in  the  stores,  and  wax  matches  in  the  Great  Square 
of  St.  Mark.  The  last  remark  suggests  a  digression. 
Everybody  goes  to  this  vast  square  in  the  evening. 
The  military  bands  play  in  the  center  of  it  and 
countless  couples  of  ladies  and  gentlemen  promenade 
up  and  down  on  either  side,  and  platoons  of  them 
are  constantly  drifting  away  toward  the  old  cathe 
dral,  and  by  the  venerable  column  with  the  Winged 
Lion  of  St.  Mark  on  its  top,  and  out  to  where  the 
boats  lie  moored ;  and  other  platoons  are  as  con 
stantly  arriving  from  the  gondolas  and  joining  the 
great  throng.  Between  the  promenaders  and  the 
sidewalks  are  seated  hundreds  and  hundreds  of  peo 
ple  at  small  tables,  smoking  and  taking  granita  (a 
first  cousin  to  ice-cream) ;  on  the  sidewalks  are 
more  employing  themselves  in  the  same  way.  The 
shops  in  the  first  floor  of  the  tall  rows  of  buildings  that 
wall  in  three  sides  of  the  square  are  brilliantly  lighted, 
the  air  is  filled  with  music  and  merry  voices,  and 


The  Innocents  Abroad  299 

altogether  the  scene  is  as  bright  and  spirited  and  full 
of  cheerfulness  as  any  man  could  desire.  We  enjoy 
it  thoroughly.  Very  many  of  the  young  women  are 
exceedingly  pretty  and  dress  with  rare  good  taste. 
We  are  gradually  and  laboriously  learning  the  ill- 
manners  of  staring  them  unflinchingly  in  the  face  — 
not  because  such  conduct  is  agreeable  to  us,  but 
because  ft  is  the  custom  of  the  country  and  they  say 
the  girls  like  it.  We  wish  to  learn  all  the  curious, 
outlandish  ways  of  all  the  different  countries,  so 
that  we  can  "  show  off"  and  astonish  people  when 
we  get  home.  We  wish  to  excite  the  envy  of  our 
untraveled  friends  with  our  strange  foreign  fashions 
which  we  can't  shake  off.  All  our  passengers  are 
paying  strict  attention  to  this  thing,  with  the  end  in 
view  which  I  have  mentioned.  The  gentle  reader 
will  never,  never  know  what  a  consummate  ass  he 
can  become  until  he  goes  abroad.  I  speak  now,  of 
course,  in  the  supposition  that  the  gentle  reader  has 
not  been  abroad,  and  therefore  is  not  already  a 
consummate  ass.  If  the  case  be  otherwise,  I  beg 
his  pardon  and  extend  to  him  the  cordial  hand  of 
fellowship  and  call  him  brother.  I  shall  always 
delight  to  meet  an  ass  after  my  own  heart  when  I 
shall  have  finished  my  travels. 

On  this  subject  let  me  remark  that  there  are 
Americans  abroad  in  Italy  who  have  actually  for 
gotten  their  mother  tongue  in  three  months  —  forgot 
it  in  France.  They  cannot  even  write  their  address 
in  English  in  a  hotel  register.  I  append  these  evi- 


300  The  Innocents  Abroad 

dences,  which  I  copied  verbatim  from  the  register  oi 
a  hotel  in  a  certain  Italian  city : 

"  John  P.  Whitcomb,  £tats  Unis. 

"  William  L.  Ainsworth,  travailleur  (he  meant  traveler,  I  suppose), 
£tats  Unis. 

"  George  P.  Morton  et  fits,  d'Amerique. 

"  Lloyd  B.  Williams,  et  trois  amis,  ville  de  Boston,  Amerique. 

"  J.  Ellsworth  Baker,  tout  de  suite  d:  France^  place  de  naissance 
Amcrique,  destination  la  Grande  Bretagne." 

I  love  this  sort  of  people.  A  lady  passenger  of 
ours  tells  of  a  fellow-citizen  of  hers  who  spent  eight 
weeks  in  Paris  and  then  returned  home  and  ad 
dressed  his  dearest  old  bosom  friend  Herbert  as  Mr. 
"Er-bare!"  He  apologized,  though,  and  said, 
1  'Pon  my  soul  it  is  aggravating,  but  I  cahn't  help 
it — I  have  got  so  used  to  speaking  nothing  but 
French,  my  dear  Erbare  —  damme  there  it  goes 
Again! — got  so  used  to  French  pronunciation  that 
I  cahn't  get  rid  of  it— -*!t  is  positively  annoying,  I 
assure  you."  This  entertaining  idiot,  whose  name 
was  Gordon,  allowed  himself  to  be  hailed  three 
times  in  the  street  before  he  paid  any  attention,  and 
then  begged  a  thousand  pardons  and  said  he  had 
grown  so  accustomed  to  hearing  himself  addressed 
as  M'sieu  Gor-r-dong,"  with  a  roll  to  the  r,  that  he 
had  forgotten  the  legitimate  sound  of  his  name !  He 
wore  a  rose  in  his  buttonhole ;  he  gave  the  French 
salutation  —  two  flips  of  the  hand  in  front  of  the 
face ;  he  called  Paris  Pairree  in  ordinary  English  con 
versation;  he  carried  envelopes  bearing  foreign 
postmarks  protruding  from  his  breast  pocket;  he 


The  Innocents  Abroad  301 

cultivated  a  moustache  and  imperial,  and  did  what 
else  he  could  to  suggest  to  the  beholder  his  pet 
fancy  that  he  resembled  Louis  Napoleon  —  and  in  a 
spirit  of  thankfulness  which  is  entirely  unaccount 
able,  considering  the  slim  foundation  there  was  for 
it,  he  praised  his  Maker  that  he  was  as  he  was,  and 
went  on  enjoying  his  little  life  just  the  same  as  if  he 
really  had  been  deliberately  designed  and  erected  by 
the  great  Architect  of  the  Universe. 

Think  of  our  Whitcombs  and  our  Ainsworths  and 
our  Williamses  writing  themselves  down  in  dilapi 
dated  French  in  a  foreign  hotel  register !  We  laugh 
at  Englishmen,  when  we  are  at  home,  for  sticking 
so  sturdily  to  their  national  ways  and  customs,  but 
we  look  back  upon  it  from  abroad  very  forgivingly. 
It  is  not  pleasant  to  see  an  American  thrusting  his 
nationality  forward  obtrusively  in  a  foreign  land,  but 
oh,  it  is  pitiable  to  see  him  making  of  himself  a 
thing  that  is  neither  male  nor  female,  neither  fish, 
flesh,  nor  fowl  —  a  poor,  miserable,  hermaphrodite 
Frenchman ! 

Among  a  long  list  of  churches,  art  galleries,  and 
such  things,  visited  by  us  in  Venice,  I  shall  mention 
only  one  —  the  Church  of  Santa  Maria  dei  Frari. 
It  is  about  five  hundred  years  old,  I  believe,  and 
stands  on  twelve  hundred  thousand  piles.  In  it  lie 
the  body  of  Canova  and  the  heart  of  Titian,  under 
magnificent  monuments.  Titian  died  at  the  age  of 
almost  one  hundred  years.  A  plague  which  swept 
away  fifty  thousand  lives  was  raging  at  the  time,  and 


302  The  Innocents  Abroad 

there  is  notable  evidence  of  the  reverence  in  which 
the  great  painter  was  held,  in  the  fact  that  to  him 
alone  the  state  permitted  a  public  funeral  in  all  that 
season  of  terror  and  death. 

In  this  church,  also,  is  a  monument  to  the  doge 
Foscari,  whose  name  a  once  resident  of  Venice, 
Lord  Byron,  has  made  permanently  famous. 

The  monument  to  the  doge  Giovanni  Pesaro,  in 
this  church,  is  a  curiosity  in  the  way  of  mortuary 
adornment.  It  is  eighty  feet  high  and  is  fronted 
like  some  fantastic  pagan  temple.  Against  it  stand 
four  colossal  Nubians,  as  black  as  night,  dressed  in 
white  marble  garments.  The  black  legs  are  bare, 
and  through  rents  in  sleeves  and  breeches,  the  skin, 
of  shiny  black  marble,  shows.  The  artist  was  as 
ingenious  as  his  funeral  designs  were  absurd.  There 
are  two  bronze  skeletons  bearing  scrolls,  and  two 
great  dragons  uphold  the  sarcophagus.  On  high, 
amid  all  this  grotesqueness,  sits  the  departed  doge. 

In  the  conventual  buildings  attached  to  this  church 
are  the  state  archives  of  Venice.  We  did  not  see 
them,  but  they  are  said  to  number  millions  of  docu 
ments.  "They  are  the  records  of  centuries  of  the 
most  watchful,  observant,  and  suspicious  government 
that  ever  existed  —  in  which  everything  was  written 
down  and  nothing  spoken  out."  They  fill  nearly 
three  hundred  rooms.  Among  them  are  manuscripts 
from  the  archives  of  nearly  two  thousand  families, 
monasteries,  and  convents.  The  secret  history  of 
Venice  for  a  thousand  years  is  here  —  its  plots,  its 


The  Innocents  Abroad  303 

hidden  trials,  its  assassinations,  its  commissions  ol 
hireling  spies  and  masked  bravoes  —  food,  ready  to 
hand,  for  a  world  of  dark  and  mysterious  romances. 

Yes,  I  think  we  have  seen  all  of  Venice.  We 
have  seen,  in  these  old  churches,  a  profusion  of 
costly  and  elaborate  sepulchre  ornamentation  such 
as  we  never  dreamt  of  before.  We  have  stood  in 
the  dim  religious  light  of  these  hoary  sanctuaries,  in 
the  midst  of  long  ranks  of  dusty  monuments  and 
effigies  of  the  great  dead  of  Venice,  until  we  seemed 
drifting  back,  back,  back,  into  the  solemn  past,  and 
looking  upon  the  scenes  and  mingling  with  the  peo 
ples  of  a  remote  antiquity.  We  have  been  in  a 
half-waking  sort  of  dream  all  the  time.  I  do  not 
know  how  else  to  describe  the  feeling.  A  part  of 
our  being  has  remained  still  in  the  nineteenth  cen 
tury,  while  another  part  of  it  has  seemed  in  some 
unaccountable  way  walking  among  the  phantoms  of 
the  tenth. 

We  have  seen  famous  pictures  until  our  eyes  are 
weary  with  looking  at  them  and  refuse  to  find  inter 
est  in  them  any  longer.  And  what  wonder,  when 
there  are  twelve  hundred  pictures  by  Palma  the 
Younger  in  Venice  and  fifteen  hundred  by  Tinto 
retto?  And  behold,  there  are  Titians  and  the  works 
of  other  artists  in  proportion.  We  have  seen 
Titian's  celebrated  Cain  and  Abel,  his  David  and 
Goliah,  his  Abraham's  Sacrifice.  We  have  seen 
Tintoretto's  monster  picture,  which  is  seventy-four 
feet  long  and  I  do  not  know  how  many  feet  high, 


304  The  Innocents  Abroad 

and  thought  it  a  very  commodious  picture.  We 
have  seen  pictures  of  martyrs  enough,  and  saints 
enough,  to  regenerate  the  world.  I  ought  not  to 
confess  it,  but  still,  since  one  has  no  opportunity  in 
America  to  acquire  a  critical  judgment  in  art,  and 
since  I  could  not  hope  to  become  educated  in  it  in 
Europe  in  a  few  short  weeks,  I  may  therefore  as 
well  acknowledge  with  such  apologies  as  may  be 
due,  that  to  me  it  seemed  that  when  I  had  seen  one 
of  these  martyrs  I  had  seen  them  all.  They  all  have 
a  marked  family  resemblance  to  each  other,  they 
dress  alike,  in  coarse  monkish  robes  and  sandals, 
they  are  all  bald-headed,  they  all  stand  in  about 
the  same  attitude,  and  without  exception  they  are 
gazing  heavenward  with  countenances  which  the 
Ainsworths,  the  Mortons,  and  the  Williamses,  etfils, 
inform  me  are  full  of  "  expression."  To  me  there 
is  nothing  tangible  about  these  imaginary  portraits, 
nothing  that  I  can  grasp  and  take  a  living  interest 
in.  If  great  Titian  had  only  been  gifted  with 
prophecy,  and  had  skipped  a  martyr,  and  gone 
over  to  England  and  painted  a  portrait  of  Shake 
speare,  even  as  a  youth,  which  we  could  all  have 
confidence  in  now,  the  world  down  to  the  latest 
generations  would  have  forgiven  him  the  lost  martyr 
in  the  rescued  seer.  I  think  posterity  could  have 
spared  one  more  martyr  for  the  sake  of  a  great  his 
torical  picture  of  Titian's  time  and  painted  by  his 
brush  —  such  as  Columbus  returning  in  chains  from 
the  discovery  of  a  world,  for  instance.  The  old 


The  Innocents  Abroad  305 

masters  did  paint  some  Venetian  historical  pictures, 
and  these  we  did  not  tire  of  looking  at,  notwithstand 
ing  representations  of  the  formal  introduction  of 
defunct  Doges  to  the  Virgin  Mary  in  regions  beyond 
the  clouds  clashed  rather  harshly  with  the  proprieties, 
it  seemed  to  us. 

But,  humble  as  we  are,  and  unpretending,  in  the 
matter  of  art,  our  researches  among  the  painted 
monks  and  martyrs  have  not  been  wholly  in  vain. 
We  have  striven  hard  to  learn.  We  have  had  some 
success.  We  have  mastered  some  things,  possibly 
of  trifling  import  in  the  eyes  of  the  learned,  but  to 
us  they  give  pleasure,  and  we  take  as  much  pride  in 
our  little  acquirements  as  do  others  who  have  learned 
far  more,  and  we  love  to  display  them  full  as  well. 
When  we  see  a  monk  going  about  with  a  lion  and 
looking  tranquilly  up  to  heaven,  we  know  that  that 
is  St.  Mark.  When  we  see  a  monk  with  a  book 
and  a  pen,  looking  tranquilly  up  to  heaven,  trying 
to  think  of  a  word,  we  know  that  that  is  St.  Matthew. 
When  we  see  a  monk  sitting  on  a  rock,  looking  tran 
quilly  up  to  heaven,  with  a  human  skull  beside  him, 
and  without  other  baggage,  we  know  that  that  is  St. 
Jerome.  Because  we  know  that  he  always  went 
flying  light  in  the  matter  of  baggage.  When  we  see 
a  party  looking  tranquilly  up  to  heaven,  unconscious 
that  his  body  is  shot  through  and  through  with 
arrows,  we  know  that  that  is  St.  Sebastian.  When 
we  see  other  monks  looking  tranquilly  up  to  heaven, 
but  having  no  trademark,  we  always  ask  who  those 
20* 


306  The  Innocents  Abroad 

parties  are.  We  do  this  because  we  humbly  wish  to 
learn.  We  have  seen  thirteen  thousand  St.  Jeromes, 
and  twenty-two  thousand  St.  Marks,  and  sixteen  thou 
sand  St.  Matthews,  and  sixty  thousand  St.  Sebas 
tians,  and  four  millions  of  assorted  monks,  undesig- 
nated,  and  we  feel  encouraged  to  believe  that  when 
we  have  seen  some  more  of  these  various  pictures, 
and  had  a  larger  experience,  we  shall  begin  to  take 
an  absorbing  interest  in  them  like  our  cultivated 
countrymen  from  Amerique. 

Now  it  does  give  me  real  pain  to  speak  in  this 
almost  unappreciative  way  of  the  old  masters  and 
their  martyrs,  because  good  friends  of  mine  in  the 
ship  —  friends  who  do  thoroughly  and  conscientiously 
appreciate  them  and  are  in  every  way  competent  to 
discriminate  between  good  pictures  and  inferior 
ones  —  have  urged  me  for  my  own  sake  not  to  make 
public  the  fact  that  I  lack  this  appreciation  and  this 
critical  discrimination  myself.  I  believe  that  what  I 
have  written  and  may  still  write  about  pictures  will 
give  them  pain,  and  I  am  honestly  sorry  for  it.  I 
even  promised  that  I  would  hide  my  uncouth  senti 
ments  in  my  own  breast.  But  alas !  I  never  could 
keep  a  promise.  I  do  not  blame  myself  for  this 
weakness,  because  the  fault  must  lie  in  my  physical 
organization.  It  is  likely  that  such  a  very  liberal 
amount  of  space  was  given  to  the  organ  which 
enables  me  to  make  promises,  that  the  organ  which 
should  enable  me  to  keep  them  was  crowded  out. 
But  I  grieve  not.  I  like  no  half-way  things.  I  had 


The  Innocents  Abroad  307 

rather  have  one  faculty  nobly  developed  than  two 
faculties  of  mere  ordinary  capacity.  I  certainly 
meant  to  keep  that  promise,  but  I  find  I  cannot  do 
it.  It  is  impossible  to  travel  through  Italy  without 
speaking  of  pictures,  and  can  I  see  them  through 
others'  eyes? 

If  I  did  not  so  delight  in  the  grand  pictures  that 
are  spread  before  me  every  day  of  my  life  by  that 
monarch  of  all  the  old  masters,  Nature,  I  should 
come  to  believe,  sometimes,  that  I  had  in  me  no 
appreciation  of  the  beautiful,  whatsoever. 

It  seems  to  me  that  whenever  I  glory  to  think  that 
for  once  I  have  discovered  an  ancient  painting  that 
is  beautiful  and  worthy  of  all  praise,  the  pleasure  it 
gives  me  is  an  infallible  proof  that  it  is  not  a  beauti 
ful  picture  and  not  in  any  wise  worthy  of  commenda 
tion.  This  very  thing  has  occurred  more  times  than 
I  can  mention,  in  Venice.  In  every  single  instance 
the  guide  has  crushed  out  my  swelling  enthusiasm 
with  the  remark: 

*'  It  is  nothing — it  is  of  the  Renaissance" 

I  did  not  know  what  in  the  mischief  the  Renais 
sance  was,  and  so  always  I  had  to  simply  say: 

"  Ah  !   so  it  is  —  I  had  not  observed  it  before." 

I  could  not  bear  to  be  ignorant  before  a  cultivated 
negro,  the  offspring  of  a  South  Carolina  slave.  But 
it  occurred  too  often  for  even  my  self-complacency, 
did  that  exasperating  "  It  is  nothing  —  it  is  of  the 
Renaissance. ' '  I  said  at  last : 

"  Who  is  this  Renaissance?     Where  did  he  come 


308  The  Innocents  Abroad 

from?  Who  gave  him  permission  to  cram  the 
Republic  with  his  execrable  daubs?" 

We  learned,  then,  that  Renaissance  was  not  a 
man;  that  renaissance  was  a  term  used  to  signify 
what  was  at  best  but  an  imperfect  rejuvenation  of 
art.  The  guide  said  that  after  Titian's  time  and  the 
time  of  the  other  great  names  we  had  grown  so 
familiar  with,  high  art  declined;  then  it  partially 
rose  again  —  an  inferior  sort  of  painters  sprang  up, 
and  these  shabby  pictures  were  the  work  of  their 
hands.  Then  I  said,  in  my  heat,  that  I  "  wished  to 
goodness  high  art  had  declined  five  hundred  years 
sooner."  The  Renaissance  pictures  suit  me  very 
well,  though  sooth  to  say  its  school  were  too  much 
given  to  painting  real  men  and  did  not  indulge 
enough  in  martyrs. 

The  guide  I  have  spoken  of  is  the  only  one  we 
have  had  yet  who  knew  anything.  He  was  born  in 
South  Carolina,  of  slave  parents.  They  came  to 
Venice  while  he  was  an  infant.  He  has  grown  up 
here.  He  is  well  educated.  He  reads,  writes,  and 
speaks  English,  Italian,  Spanish,  and  French,  with 
perfect  facility;  is  a  worshiper  of  art  and  thor 
oughly  conversant  with  it;  knows  the  history  of 
Venice  by  heart  and  never  tires  of  talking  of  her 
illustrious  career.  He  dresses  better  than  any  of  us, 
I  think,  and  is  daintily  polite.  Negroes  are  deemed 
as  good  as  white  people,  in  Venice,  and  so  this  man 
feels  no  desire  to  go  back  to  his  native  land.  His 
judgment  is  correct. 


The  Innocents  Abroad  309 

I  have  had  another  shave.  I  was  writing  in  our 
front  room  this  afternoon  and  trying  hard  to  keep 
my  attention  on  my  work  and  refrain  from  looking 
out  upon  the  canal.  I  was  resisting  the  soft  in 
fluences  of  the  climate  as  well  as  I  could,  and 
endeavoring  to  overcome  the  desire  to  be  indolent 
and  happy.  The  boys  sent  for  a  barber.  They 
asked  me  if  I  would  be  shaved.  I  reminded  them 
of  my  tortures  in  Genoa,  Milan,  Como ;  of  my 
declaration  that  I  would  suffer  no  more  on  Italian 
soil.  I  said:  "  Not  any  for  me,  if  you  please." 

I  wrote  on.  The  barber  began  on  the  doctor.  I 
heard  him  say: 

"Dan,  this  is  the  easiest  shave  I  have  had  since 
we  left  the  ship." 

He  said  again,  presently: 

"Why,  Dan,  a  man  could  go  to  sleep  with  this 
man  shaving  him." 

Dan  took  the  chair.     Then  he  said : 

"Why,  this  is  Titian.  This  is  one  of  the  old 
masters." 

I  wrote  on.     Directly  Dan  said : 

"  Doctor,  it  is  perfect  luxury.  The  ship's  barber 
isn't  anything  to  him." 

My  rough  beard  was  distressing  me  beyond  meas 
ure.  The  barber  was  rolling  up  his  apparatus. 
The  temptation  was  too  strong.  I  said : 

"  Hold  on,  please.     Shave  me  also." 

I  sat  down  in  the  chair  and  closed  my  eyes.  The 
barber  soaped  my  face,  and  then  took  his  razor  and 


310  The  Innocents  Abroad 

gave  me  a  rake  that  well  nigh  threw  me  into  convul 
sions.  I  jumped  out  of  the  chair:  Dan  and  the 
doctor  were  both  wiping  blood  off  their  faces  and 
laughing. 

I  said  it  was  a  mean,  disgraceful  fraud. 

They  said  that  the  misery  of  this  shave  had  gone 
so  far  beyond  anything  they  had  ever  experienced 
before,  that  they  could  not  bear  the  idea  of  losing 
such  a  chance  of  hearing  a  cordial  opinion  from  me 
on  the  subject. 

It  was  shameful.  But  there  was  no  help  for  it. 
The  skinning  was  begun  and  had  to  be  finished. 
The  tears  flowed  with  every  rake,  and  so  did  the 
fervent  execrations.  The  barber  grew  confused, 
and  brought  blood  every  time.  I  think  the  boys 
enjoyed  it  better  than  anything  they  have  seen  or 
heard  since  they  left  home. 

We  have  seen  the  Campanile,  and  Byron's  house, 
and  Balbi's  the  geographer,  and  the  palaces  of  all 
the  ancient  dukes  and  doges  of  Venice,  and  we  have 
seen  their  effeminate  descendants  airing  their  nobility 
in  fashionable  French  attire  in  the  Grand  Square  of 
St.  Mark,  and  eating  ices  and  drinking  cheap  wines, 
instead  of  wearing  gallant  coats  of  mail  and  destroy 
ing  fleets  and  armies  as  their  great  ancestors  did  in 
the  days  of  Venetian  glory.  We  have  seen  no 
bravoes  with  poisoned  stilettoes,  no  masks,  no  wild 
carnival ;  but  we  have  seen  the  ancient  pride  of 
Venice,  the  grim  Bronze  Horses  that  figure  in  a 
thousand  legends.  Venice  may  well  cherish  them, 


The  Innocents  Abroad  311 

for  they  are  the  only  horses  she  ever  had.  It  is 
said  there  are  hundreds  of  people  in  this  curious 
city  who  never  have  seen  a  living  horse  in  their  lives. 
It  is  entirely  true,  no  doubt. 

And  so,  having  satisfied  ourselves,  we  depart  to 
morrow,  and  leave  the  venerable  Queen  of  the  Re 
publics  to  summon  her  vanished  ships,  and  marshal 
her  shadowy  armies,  and  know  again  in  dreams  the 
pride  of  her  old  renown. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

SOME  of  the  Quaker  City* s  passengers  had  ar 
rived  in  Venice  from  Switzerland  and  other 
lands  before  we  left  there,  and  others  were  expected 
every  day.  We  heard  of  no  casualties  among  them, 
and  no  sickness. 

We  were  a  little  fatigued  with  sightseeing,  and  so 
we  rattled  through  a  good  deal  of  country  by  rail 
without  caring  to  stop.  I  took  few  notes.  I  find 
no  mention  of  Bologna  in  my  memorandum  book, 
except  that  we  arrived  there  in  good  season,  but 
saw  none  of  the  sausages  for  which  the  place  is  so 
justly  celebrated. 

Pistoia  awoke  but  a  passing  interest. 

Florence  pleased  us  for  a  while.  I  think  we  ap 
preciated  the  great  figure  of  David  in  the  grand 
square,  and  the  sculptured  group  they  call  the  Rape 
of  the  Sabines.  We  wandered  through  the  endless 
collections  of  paintings  and  statues  of  the  Pitti  and 
Uffizzi  galleries,  of  course.  I  make  that  statement 
in  self-defense;  there  let  it  stop.  I  could  not  rest 
under  the  imputation  that  I  visited  Florence  and  did 
not  traverse  its  weary  miles  of  picture  galleries.  We 


The  Innocents  Abroad  313 

tried  indolently  to  recollect  something  about  the 
Guelphs  and  Ghibelines  and  the  other  historical  cut* 
throats  whose  quarrels  and  assassinations  make  up 
so  large  a  share  of  Florentine  history,  but  the  sub 
ject  was  not  attractive.  We  had  been  robbed  of  all 
the  fine  mountain  scenery  on  our  little  journey  by  a 
system  of  railroading  that  had  three  miles  of  tunnel 
to  a  hundred  yards  of  daylight,  and  we  were  not 
inclined  to  be  sociable  with  Florence.  We  had  seen 
the  spot,  outside  the  city  somewhere,  where  these 
people  had  allowed  the  bones  of  Galileo  to  rest  in 
unconsecrated  ground  for  an  age  because  his  great 
discovery  that  the  world  turned  around  was  regarded 
as  a  damning  heresy  by  the  church ;  and  we  know 
that  long  after  the  world  had  accepted  his  theory 
and  raised  his  name  high  in  the  list  of  its  great 
men,  they  had  still  let  him  rot  there.  That  we  had 
lived  to  see  his  dust  in  honored  sepulture  in  the 
Church  of  Santa  Croce  we  owed  to  a  society  of 
literati,  and  not  to  Florence  or  her  rulers.  We  saw 
Dante's  tomb  in  that  church,  also,  but  we  were  glad 
to  know  that  his  body  was  not  in  it;  that  the  un 
grateful  city  that  had  exiled  him  and  persecuted  him 
would  give  much  to  have  it  there,  but  need  not  hope 
to  ever  secure  that  high  honor  to  herself.  Medicis 
are  good  enough  for  Florence.  Let  her  plant 
Medicis  and  build  grand  monuments  over  them  to 
testify  how  gratefully  she  was  wont  to  lick  the  hand 
that  scourged  her. 

Magnanimous  Florence !     Her  jewelry  marts  are 


314  The  Innocents  Abroad 

filled  with  artists  in  mosaic.  Florentine  mosaics 
are  the  choicest  in  all  the  world.  Florence  loves  to 
have  that  said.  Florence  is  proud  of  it.  Florence 
would  foster  this  specialty  of  hers.  She  is  grateful 
to  the  artists  that  bring  to  her  this  high  credit  and 
fill  her  coffers  with  foreign  money,  and  so  she  en 
courages  them  with  pensions.  With  pensions ! 
Think  of  the  lavishness  of  it.  She  knows  that  peo 
ple  who  piece  together  the  beautiful  trifles  die  early, 
because  the  labor  is  so  confining,  and  so  exhausting 
to  hand  and  brain,  and  so  she  has  decreed  that  all 
these  people  who  reach  the  age  of  sixty  shall  have 
a  pension  after  that !  I  have  not  heard  that  any  of 
them  have  called  for  their  dividends  yet.  One  man 
did  fight  along  till  he  was  sixty,  and  started  after  his 
pension,  but  it  appeared  that  there  had  been  a  mis 
take  of  a  year  in  his  family  record,  and  so  he  gave 
it  up  and  died.  These  artists  will  take  particles  of 
stone  or  glass  no  larger  than  a  mustard  seed,  and 
piece  them  together  on  a  sleeve-button  or  a  shirt- 
stud,  so  smoothly  and  with  such  nice  adjustment  of 
the  delicate  shades  of  color  the  pieces  bear,  as  to 
form  a  pigmy  rose  with  stem,  thorn,  leaves,  petals 
complete,  and  all  as  softly  and  as  truthfully  tinted 
as  though  Nature  had  builded  it  herself.  They  will 
counterfeit  a  fly,  or  a  high-toned  bug,  or  the  ruined 
Coliseum,  within  the  cramped  circle  of  a  breastpin, 
and  do  it  so  deftly  and  so  neatly  that  any  man  might 
think  a  master  painted  it. 

I  saw  a  little  table  in  the  great  mosaic  school  in 


The  Innocents  Abroad  315 

Florence  —  a  little  trifle  of  a  center-table  —  whose 
top  was  made  of  some  sort  of  precious  polished 
stone,  and  in  the  stone  was  inlaid  the  figure  of  a 
flute,  with  bell-mouth  and  a  mazy  complication  of 
keys.  No  painting  in  the  world  could  have  been 
softer  or  richer;  no  shading  out  of  one  tint  into 
another  could  have  been  more  perfect;  no  work  of 
art  of  any  kind  could  have  been  more  faultless  than 
this  flute,  and  yet  to  count  the  multitude  of  little 
fragments  of  stone  of  which  they  swore  it  was  formed 
would  bankrupt  any  man's  arithmetic !  I  do  not 
think  one  could  have  seen  where  two  particles  joined 
each  other  with  eyes  of  ordinary  shrewdness.  Cer 
tainly  we  could  detect  no  such  blemish.  This  table 
top  cost  the  labor  of  one  man  for  ten  long  years,  so 
they  said,  and  it  was  for  sale  for  thirty-five  thousand 
dollars. 

We  went  to  the  Church  of  Santa  Croce,  from  time 
to  time,  in  Florence,  to  weep  over  the  tombs  of 
Michael  Angelo,  Raphael,  and  Machiavelli  (I  sup 
pose  they  are  buried  there,  but  it  may  be  that  they 
reside  elsewhere  and  rent  their  tombs  to  other 
parties  —  such  being  the  fashion  in  Italy),  and  be 
tween  times  we  used  to  go  and  stand  on  the  bridges 
and  admire  the  Arno.  It  is  popular  to  admire  the 
Arno.  It  is  a  great  historical  creek  with  four  feet 
in  the  channel  and  some  scows  floating  around.  It 
would  be  a  very  plausible  river  if  they  would  pump 
some  water  into  it.  They  all  call  it  a  river,  and 
they  honestly  think  it  is  a  river,  do  these  dark  and 


316  The  Innocents  Abroad 

bloody  Florentines.  They  even  help  out  the  delu* 
sion  by  building  bridges  over  it.  I  do  not  see  why 
they  are  too  good  to  wade. 

How  the  fatigues  and  annoyances  of  travel  fill  one 
with  bitter  prejudices  sometimes !  I  might  enter 
Florence  under  happier  auspices  a  month  hence  and 
find  it  all  beautiful,  all  attractive.  But  I  do  not 
care  to  think  of  it  now,  at  all,  nor  of  its  roomy 
shops  filled  to  the  ceiling  with  snowy  marble  and 
alabaster  copies  of  all  the  celebrated  sculptures  in 
Europe  —  copies  so  enchanting  to  the  eye  that  I 
wonder  how  they  can  really  be  shaped  like  the  dingy 
petrified  nightmares  they  are  the  portraits  of.  I 
got  lost  in  Florence  at  nine  o'clock,  one  night,  and 
stayed  lost  in  that  labyrinth  of  narrow  streets  and 
long  rows  of  vast  buildings  that  look  all  alike,  until 
toward  three  o'clock  in  the  morning.  It  was  a 
pleasant  night  and  at  first  there  were  a  good  many 
people  abroad,  and  there  were  cheerful  lights  about. 
Later,  I  grew  accustomed  to  prowling  about  mys 
terious  drifts  and  tunnels  and  astonishing  and  inter 
esting  myself  with  com  ng  around  corners  expecting 
to  find  the  hotel  staring  me  in  the  face,  and  not  find 
ing  it  doing  anything  of  the  kind.  Later  still,  I  felt 
tired.  I  soon  felt  remarkably  tired.  But  there  was 
no  one  abroad,  now  —  not  even  a  policeman.  I 
walked  till  I  was  out  of  all  patience,  and  very  hot 
and  thirsty.  At  last,  somewhere  after  one  o'clock, 
I  came  unexpectedly  to  one  of  the  city  gates.  I 
knew  then  that  I  was  very  far  from  the  hotel.  The 


The  Innocents  Abroad  317 

soldiers  thought  I  wanted  to  leave  the  city,  and  they 
sprang  up  and  barred  the  way  with  their  muskets,. 
I  said : 

"  Hotel  d'Europe!" 

It  was  all  the  Italian  I  knew,  and  I  was  not  certain 
whether  that  was  Italian  or  French.  The  soldiers 
looked  stupidly  at  each  other  and  at  me,  and  shook 
their  heads  and  took  me  into  custody.  I  said  I 
wanted  to  go  home.  They  did  not  understand  me. 
They  took  me  into  the  guard-house  and  searched 
me,  but  they  found  no  sedition  on  me.  They  found 
a  small  piece  of  soap  (we  carry  soap  with  us  now), 
and  I  made  them  a  present  of  it,  seeing  that  they 
regarded  it  as  a  curiosity.  I  continued  to  say  Hotel 
d'Europe,  and  they  continued  to  shake  their  heads, 
until  at  last  a  young  soldier  nodding  in  the  corner 
roused  up  and  said  something.  He  said  he  knew 
where  the  hotel  was,  I  suppose,  for  the  officer  of 
the  guard  sent  him  away  with  me.  We  walked 
a  hundred  or  a  hundred  and  fifty  miles,  it  ap 
peared  to  me,  and  then  he  got  lost.  He  turned 
this  way  and  that,  and  finally  gave  it  up  and  signi 
fied  that  he  was  going  to  spend  the  remainder  of 
the  morning  trying  to  find  the  city  gate  again.  At 
that  moment  it  struck  me  that  there  was  something 
familiar  about  the  house  over  the  way.  It  was  the 
hotel ! 

It  was  a  happy  thing  for  me  that  there  happened 
to  be  a  soldier  there  that  knew  even  as  much  as  he 
did ;  for  they  say  that  the  policy  of  the  government 


318  The  Innocents  Abroad 

is  to  change  the  soldiery  from  one  place  to  another 
constantly  and  from  country  to  city,  so  that  they 
cannot  become  acquainted  with  the  people  and  grow 
lax  in  their  duties  and  enter  into  plots  and  con 
spiracies  with  friends.  My  experiences  of  Florence 
were  chiefly  unpleasant.  I  will  change  the  subject. 
At  Pisa  we  climbed  up  to  the  top  of  the  strangest 
structure  the  world  has  any  knowledge  of  —  the 
Leaning  Tower.  As  every  one  knows,  it  is  in  the 
neighborhood  of  one  hundred  and  eighty  feet  high 
—  and  I  beg  to  observe  that  one  hundred  and  eighty 
feet  reach  to  about  the  height  of  four  ordinary 
three-story  buildings  piled  one  on  top  of  the  other, 
and  is  a  very  considerable  altitude  for  a  tower  of 
uniform  thickness  to  aspire  to,  even  when  it  stands 
upright  —  yet  this  one  leans  more  than  thirteen  feet 
out  of  the  perpendicular.  It  is  seven  hundred  years 
old,  but  neither  history  nor  tradition  say  whether  it 
was  built  as  it  is,  purposely,  or  whether  one  of  its 
sides  has  settled.  There  is  no  record  that  it  ever 
stood  straight  up.  It  is  built  of  marble.  It  is  an 
airy  and  a  beautiful  structure,  and  each  of  its  eight 
stories  is  encircled  by  fluted  columns,  some  of 
marble  and  some  of  granite,  with  Corinthian  capitals 
that  were  handsome  when  they  were  new.  It  is  a 
bell  tower,  and  in  its  top  hangs  a  chime  of  ancient 
bells.  The  winding  staircase  within  is  dark,  but  one 
always  knows  which  side  of  the  tower  he  is  on  be 
cause  of  his  naturally  gravitating  from  one  side  to 
the  other  of  the  staircase  with  the  rise  or  dip  of  the 


The  Innocents  Abroad  319 

tower.  Some  of  the  stone  steps  are  foot-worn  only 
on  one  end ;  others  only  on  the  other  end ;  others 
only  in  the  middle.  To  look  down  into  the  tower 
from  the  top  is  like  looking  down  into  a  tilted  well. 
A  rope  that  hangs  from  the  center  of  the  top 
touches  the  wall  before  it  reaches  the  bottom. 
Standing  on  the  summit,  one  does  not  feel  altogether 
comfortable  when  he  looks  down  from  the  high 
side ;  but  to  crawl  on  your  breast  to  the  verge  on 
the  lower  side  and  try  to  stretch  your  neck  out  far 
enough  to  see  the  base  of  the  tower,  makes  your 
flesh  creep,  and  convinces  you  for  a  single  moment, 
in  spite  of  all  your  philosophy,  that  the  building  is 
falling.  You  handle  yourself  very  carefully,  all  the 
time,  under  the  silly  impression  that  if  it  is  not  fall 
ing  your  trifling  weight  will  start  it  unless  you  are 
particular  not  to  "  bear  down  "  on  it. 

The  Duomo,  close  at  hand,  is  one  of  the  finest 
cathedrals  in  Europe.  It  is  eight  hundred  years 
old.  Its  grandeur  has  outlived  the  high  commercial 
prosperity  and  the  political  importance  that  made  it 
a  necessity,  or  rather  a  possibility.  Surrounded  by 
poverty,  decay,  and  ruin,  it  conveys  to  us  a  more 
tangible  impression  of  the  former  greatness  of  Pisa 
than  books  could  give  us. 

The  Baptistery,  which  is  a  few  years  older  than 
the  Leaning  Tower,  is  a  stately  rotunda  of  huge 
dimensions,  and  was  a  costly  structure.  In  it  hangs 
the  lamp  whose  measured  swing  suggested  to  Galileo 
the  pendulum.  It  looked  an  insignificant  thing  to 


320  The  Innocents  Abroad 

have  conferred  upon  the  world  of  science  and 
mechanics  such  a  mighty  extension  of  their  domin 
ions  as  it  has.  Pondering,  in  its  suggestive  pres 
ence,  I  seemed  to  see  a  crazy  universe  of  swinging 
disks,  the  toiling  children  of  this  sedate  parent.  He 
appeared  to  have  an  intelligent  expression  about  him 
of  knowing  that  he  was  not  a  lamp  at  all ;  that  he 
was  a  Pendulum;  a  pendulum  disguised,  for  pro 
digious  and  inscrutable  purposes  of  his  own  deep 
devising,  and  not  a  common  pendulum  either,  but 
the  old  original  patriarchal  Pendulum  —  the  Abraham 
Pendulum  of  the  world. 

This  Baptistery  is  endowed  with  the  most  pleasing 
echo  of  all  the  echoes  we  have  read  of.  The  guide 
sounded  two  sonorous  notes,  about  half  an  octave 
apart ;  the  echo  answered  with  the  most  enchanting, 
the  most  melodious,  the  richest  blending  of  sweet 
sounds  that  one  can  imagine.  It  was  like  a  long- 
drawn  chord  of  a  church  organ,  infinitely  softened 
by  distance.  I  may  be  extravagant  in  this  matter, 
but  if  this  be  the  case  my  ear  is  to  blame  —  not  my 
pen.  I  am  describing  a  memory  —  and  one  that  will 
remain  long  with  me. 

The  peculiar  devotional  spirit  of  the  olden  time, 
which  placed  a  higher  confidence  in  outward  forms 
of  worship  than  in  the  watchful  guarding  of  the 
heart  against  sinful  thoughts  and  the  hands  against 
sinful  deeds,  and  which  believed  in  the  protecting 
virtues  of  inanimate  objects  made  holy  by  contact 
with  holy  things,  is  illustrated  in  a  striking  manner 


The  Innocents  Abroad  321 

in  one  of  the  cemeteries  of  Pisa.  The  tombs  are 
set  in  soil  brought  in  ships  from  the  Holy  Land  ages 
ago.  To  be  buried  in  such  ground  was  regarded  by 
the  ancient  Pisans  as  being  more  potent  for  salvation 
than  many  masses  purchased  of  the  church  and  the 
vowing  of  many  candles  to  the  Virgin. 

Pisa  is  believed  to  be  about  three  thousand  years 
old.  It  was  one  of  the  twelve  great  cities  of  ancient 
Etruria,  that  commonwealth  which  has  left  so  many 
monuments  in  testimony  of  its  extraordinary  ad 
vancement,  and  so  little  history  of  itself  that  is 
tangible  and  comprehensible.  A  Pisan  antiquarian 
gave  me  an  ancient  tear-jug  which  he  averred  was 
full  four  thousand  years  old.  It  was  found  among 
the  ruins  of  one  of  the  oldest  of  the  Etruscan  cities. 
He  said  it  came  from  a  tomb,  and  was  used  by 
some  bereaved  family  in  that  remote  age  when  even 
the  Pyramids  of  Egypt  were  young,  Damascus  a 
village,  Abraham  a  prattling  infant  and  ancient  Troy 
not  yet  dreamt  of,  to  receive  the  tears  wept  for 
some  lost  idol  of  a  household.  It  spoke  to  us  in  a 
language  of  its  own ;  and  with  a  pathos  more  tender 
than  any  words  might  bring,  its  mute  eloquence 
swept  down  the  long  roll  of  the  centuries  with  its 
tale  of  a  vacant  chair,  a  familiar  footstep  missed  from 
the  threshold,  a  pleasant  voice  gone  from  the  chorus, 
a  vanished  form !  —  a  tale  which  is  always  so  new  to 
us,  so  startling,  so  terrible,  so  benumbing  to  the 
senses,  and  behold  how  threadbare  and  old  it  is! 
No  shrewdly-worded  history  could  have  brought  the 
21* 


322  The  Innocents  Abroad 

myths  and  shadows  of  that  old  dreamy  age  before 
us  clothed  with  human  flesh  and  warmed  with 
human  sympathies  so  vividly  as  did  this  poor  little 
unsentient  vessel  of  pottery. 

Pisa  was  a  republic  in  the  Middle  Ages,  with  a 
government  of  her  own,  armies  and  navies  of  her 
own,  and  a  great  commerce.  She  was  a  warlike 
power,  and  inscribed  upon  her  banners  many  a 
brilliant  fight  with  Genoese  and  Turks.  It  is  said 
that  the  city  once  numbered  a  population  of  four 
hundred  thousand ;  but  her  scepter  has  passed  from 
her  grasp  now,  her  ships  and  her  armies  are  gone, 
her  commerce  is  dead.  Her  battle-flags  bear  the 
mold  and  the  dust  of  centuries,  her  marts  are  de 
serted,  she  has  shrunken  far  within  her  crumbling 
walls,  and  her  great  population  has  diminished  to 
twenty  thousand  souls  She  has  but  one  thing  left 
to  boast  of,  and  that  is  not  much;  viz.,  she  is  the 
second  city  of  Tuscany. 

We  reached  Leghorn  in  time  to  see  all  we  wished 
to  see  of  it  long  before  the  city  gates  were  closed 
for  the  evening,  and  then  came  on  board  the  ship. 

We  felt  as  though  we  had  been  away  from  home 
an  age.  We  never  entirely  appreciated,  before, 
what  a  very  pleasant  den  our  state-room  is;  nor 
how  jolly  it  is  to  sit  at  dinner  in  one's  own  seat  in 
one's  own  cabin,  and  hold  familiar  conversation 
with  friends  in  one's  own  language.  Oh,  the  rare 
happiness  of  comprehending  every  single  word  that 
is  said,  and  knowing  that  every  word  one  says  in 


The  Innocents  Abroad  323 

return  will  be  understood  as  well !  We  would  talk 
ourselves  to  death  now,  only  there  are  only  about 
ten  passengers  out  of  the  sixty-five  to  talk  to.  The 
others  are  wandering,  we  hardly  know  where.  We 
shall  not  go  ashore  in  Leghorn.  We  are  surfeited 
with  Italian  cities  for  the  present,  and  much  prefer 
to  walk  the  familiar  quarter-deck  and  view  this  one 
from  a  distance. 

The  stupid  magnates  of  this  Leghorn  government 
cannot  understand  that  so  large  a  steamer  as  ours 
could  cross  the  broad  Atlantic  with  no  other  purpose 
than  to  indulge  a  party  of  ladies  and  gentlemen  in  a 
pleasure  excursion.  It  looks  too  improbable.  It  is 
suspicious,  they  think.  Something  more  important 
must  be  hidden  behind  it  all.  They  cannot  under 
stand  it,  and  they  scorn  the  evidence  of  the  ship's 
papers.  They  have  decided  at  last  that  we  are  a 
battalion  of  incendiary,  blood-thirsty  Garibaldians  in 
disguise!  And  in  all  seriousness  they  have  set  a 
gunboat  to  watch  the  vessel  night  and  day,  with 
orders  to  close  down  on  any  revolutionary  movement 
in  a  twinkling!  Police-boats  are  on  patrol  duty 
about  us  all  the  time,  and  it  is  as  much  as  a  sailor's 
liberty  is  worth  to  show  himself  in  a  red  shirt. 
These  policemen  follow  the  executive  officer's  boat 
from  shore  to  ship  and  from  ship  to  shore,  and 
watch  his  dark  maneuvers  with  a  vigilant  eye.  They 
will  arrest  him  yet  unless  he  assumes  an  expression 
of  countenance  that  shall  have  less  of  carnage,  insur 
rection,  and  sedition  in  it.  A  visit  paid  in  a  friendly 
u» 


324  The  Innocents  Abroad 

way  to  General  Garibaldi  yesterday  (by  cordial 
invitation)  by  some  of  our  passengers,  has  gone  far 
to  confirm  the  dread  suspicions  the  government  har 
bors  toward  us.  It  is  thought  the  friendly  visit  was 
only  the  cloak  of  a  bloody  conspiracy.  These  peo 
ple  draw  near  and  watch  us  when  we  bathe  in  the 
sea  from  the  ship's  side.  Do  they  think  we  are 
communing  with  a  reserve  force  of  rascals  at  the 
bottom  ? 

It  is  said  that  we  shall  probably  be  quarantined  at 
Naples.  Two  or  three  of  us  prefer  not  to  run  this 
risk.  Therefore,  when  we  are  rested,  we  propose 
to  go  in  a  French  steamer  to  Civita  Vecchia,  and 
from  thence  to  Rome,  and  by  rail  to  Naples.  They 
do  not  quarantine  the  cars,  no  matter  where  they 
got  their  passengers  from, 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

THERE  are  a  good  many  things  about  this  Italy 
which  I  do  not  understand  —  and  more  espe 
cially  I  cannot  understand  how  a  bankrupt  government 
can  have  such  palatial  railroad  depots  and  such  mar 
vels  of  turnpikes.  Why,  these  latter  are  as  hard  as 
adamant,  as  straight  as  a  line,  as  smooth  as  a  floor, 
and  as  white  as  snow.  When  it  is  too  dark  to  see 
any  other  object,  one  can  still  see  the  white  turnpikes 
of  France  and  Italy ;  and  they  are  clean  enough  to 
eat  from,  without  a  table-cloth.  And  yet  no  tolls 
are  charged. 

As  for  the  railways  —  we  have  none  like  them. 
The  cars  slide  as  smoothly  along  as  if  they  were  on 
runners.  The  depots  are  vast  palaces  of  cut  marble, 
with  stately  colonnades  of  the  same  royal  stone 
traversing  them  from  end  to  end,  and  with  ample 
walls  and  ceilings  richly  decorated  with  frescoes. 
The  lofty  gateways  are  graced  with  statues,  and  the 
broad  floors  are  all  laid  in  polished  flags  of  marble. 

These  things  win  me  more  than  Italy's  hundred 
galleries  of  priceless  art  treasures,  because  I  can 
understand  the  one  and  am  not  competent  to  appre- 

(325) 


326  The  Innocents  Abroad 

ciate  the  other.  In  the  turnpikes,  the  railways,  the 
depots,  and  the  new  boulevards  of  uniform  houses 
in  Florence  and  other  cities  here,  I  see  the  genius  of 
Louis  Napoleon,  or  rather,  I  see  the  works  of  that 
statesman  imitated.  But  Louis  has  taken  care  that 
in  France  there  shall  be  a  foundation  for  these  im 
provements —  money.  He  has  always  the  where 
withal  to  back  up  his  projects;  they  strengthen 
France  and  never  weaken  her.  Her  material  pros 
perity  is  genuine.  But  here  the  case  is  different. 
This  country  is  bankrupt.  There  is  no  real  founda 
tion  for  these  great  works.  The  prosperity  they 
would  seem  to  indicate  is  a  pretense.  There  is  no 
money  in  the  treasury,  and  so  they  enfeeble  her 
instead  of  strengthening.  Italy  has  achieved  the 
dearest  wish  of  her  heart  and  become  an  independent 
state  —  and  in  so  doing  she  has  drawn  an  elephant 
in  the  political  lottery.  She  has  nothing  to  feed  it 
on.  Inexperienced  in  government,  she  plunged  into 
all  manner  of  useless  expenditure,  and  swamped  her 
treasury  almost  in  a  day.  She  squandered  millions 
of  francs  on  a  navy  which  she  did  not  need,  and  the 
first  time  she  took  her  new  toy  into  action  she  got 
it  knocked  higher  than  Gilderoy's  kite  —  to  use  the 
language  of  the  Pilgrims. 

But  it  is  an  ill-wind  that  blows  nobody  good.  A 
year  ago,  when  Italy  saw  utter  ruin  staring  her  in 
the  face  and  her  greenbacks  hardly  worth  the  paper 
they  were  printed  on,  her  Parliament  ventured  upon 
a  coup  de  main  that  would  have  appalled  the  stoutest 


The  Innocents  Abroad  327 

of  her  statesmen  under  less  desperate  circumstances. 
They,  in  a  manner,  confiscated  the  domains  of  the 
Church !  This  in  priest-ridden  Ita1y !  This  in  a 
land  which  has  groped  in  the  midnight  of  priestly 
superstition  for  sixteen  hundred  years !  It  was  a 
rare  good  fortune  for  Italy,  the  stress  of  weather 
that  drove  her  to  break  from  this  prison-house. 

They  do  not  call  it  confiscating  the  church  prop 
erty.  That  would  sound  too  harshly  yet.  But  it 
amounts  to  that.  There  are  thousands  of  churches 
in  Italy,  each  with  untold  millions  of  treasures  stored 
away  in  its  closets,  and  each  with  its  battalion  of 
priests  to  be  supported.  And  then  there  are  the 
estates  of  the  Church  —  league  on  league  of  the 
richest  lands  and  the  noblest  forests  in  all  Italy  —  all 
yielding  immense  revenues  to  the  Church,  and  none 
paying  a  cent  in  taxes  to  the  state.  In  some  great 
districts  the  Church  owns  all  the  property  —  lands, 
water-courses,  woods,  mills  and  factories.  They  buy, 
they  sell,  they  manufacture,  and  since  they  pay  no 
taxes,  who  can  hope  to  compete  with  them ! 

Well,  the  government  has  seized  all  this  in  effect, 
and  will  yet  seize  it  in  rigid  and  unpoetical  reality, 
no  doubt.  Something  must  be  done  to  feed  a 
starving  treasury,  and  there  is  no  other  resource  in 
all  Italy  —  none  but  the  riches  of  the  Church.  So  the 
government  intends  to  take  to  itself  a  great  portion 
of  the  revenues  arising  from  priestly  farms,  factories, 
etc.,  and  also  intends  to  take  possession  of  the 
churches  and  carry  them  on,  after  its  own  fashion 


328  The  Innocents  Abroad 

and  upon  its  own  responsibility.  In  a  few  instances 
it  will  leave  the  establishments  of  great  pet  churches 
undisturbed,  but  in  all  others  only  a  handful  of 
priests  will  be  retained  to  preach  and  pray,  a  few  will 
be  pensioned,  and  the  balance  turned  adrift. 

Pray  glance  at  some  of  these  churches  and  their 
embellishments,  and  see  whether  the  government  is 
doing  a  righteous  thing  or  not.  In  Venice,  to-day, 
a  city  of  a  hundred  thousand  inhabitants,  there  are 
twelve  hundred  priests.  Heaven  only  knows  how 
many  there  were  before  the  Parliament  reduced  their 
numbers.  There  was  the  great  Jesuit  Church. 
Under  the  old  regime  it  required  sixty  priests  to 
engineer  it  —  the  government  does  it  with  five  now, 
and  the  others  are  discharged  from  service.  All 
about  that  church  wretchedness  and  poverty  abound. 
At  its  door  a  dozen  hats  and  bonnets  were  doffed  to 
us,  as  many  heads  were  humbly  bowed,  and  as  many 
hands  extended,  appealing  for  pennies  —  appealing 
with  foreign  words  we  could  not  understand,  but 
appealing  mutely,  with  sad  eyes,  and  sunken  cheeks, 
and  ragged  raiment,  that  no  words  were  needed  to 
translate.  Then  we  passed  within  the  great  doors, 
and  it  seemed  that  the  riches  of  the  world  were 
before  us!  Huge  columns  carved  out  of  single 
masses  of  marble,  and  inlaid  from  top  to  bottom 
with  a  hundred  intricate  figures  wrought  in  costly 
verde  antique;  pulpits  of  the  same  rich  materials, 
whose  draperies  hung  down  in  many  a  pictured  fold, 
the  stony  fabric  counterfeiting  the  delicate  work  of 


The  Innocents  Abroad  329 

the  loom;  the  grand  altar  brilliant  with  polished 
facings  and  balustrades  of  oriental  agate,  jasper, 
verde  antique,  and  other  precious  stones,  whose 
names,  even,  we  seldom  hear  —  and  slabs  of  price 
less  lapis  lazuli  lavished  everywhere  as  recklessly  as 
if  the  church  had  owned  a  quarry  of  it.  In  the 
midst  of  all  this  magnificence,  the  solid  gold  and 
silver  furniture  of  the  altar  seemed  cheap  and  trivial. 
Even  the  floors  and  ceilings  cost  a  princely  fortune. 

Now,  where  is  the  use  of  allowing  all  those  riches 
to  lie  idle,  while  half  of  that  community  hardly 
know,  from  day  to  day,  how  they  are  going  to  keep 
body  and  soul  together?  And,  where  is  the  wisdom 
in  permitting  hundreds  upon  hundreds  of  millions  of 
francs  to  be  locked  up  in  the  useless  trumpery  of 
churches  all  over  Italy,  and  the  people  ground  to 
death  with  taxation  to  uphold  a  perishing  govern 
ment? 

As  far  as  I  can  see,  Italy,  for  fifteen  hundred 
years,  has  turned  all  her  energies,  all  her  finances, 
and  all  her  industry  to  the  building  up  of  a  vast 
array  of  wonderful  church  edifices,  and  starving  half 
her  citizens  to  accomplish  it.  She  is  to-day  one  vast 
museum  of  magnificence  and  misery.  All  the 
churches  in  an  ordinary  American  city  put  together 
could  hardly  buy  the  jeweled  frippery  in  one  of  he* 
hundred  cathedrals.  And  for  every  beggar  in 
America,  Italy  can  show  a  hundred  —  and  rags  and 
vermin  to  match.  It  is  the  wretchedest,  princeliest 
land  on  earth. 


330  The  Innocents  Abroad 

V 

Look  at  the  grand  Duomo  of  Florence  —  a  vast 
pile  that  has  been  sapping  the  purses  of  her  citizens 
for  five  hundred  years,  and  is  not  nearly  finished 
yet.  Like  all  other  men,  I  fell  down  and  wor 
shiped  it,  but  when  the  filthy  beggars  swarmed 
around  me  the  contrast  was  too  striking,  too  sug 
gestive,  and  I  said,  '*  Oh,  sons  of  classic  Italy,  is 
the  spirit  of  enterprise,  of  self-reliance,  of  noble 
endeavor,  utterly  dead  within  ye?  Curse  your 
indolent  worthlessness,  why  don't  you  rob  your 
church?" 

Three  hundred  happy,  comfortable  priests  are 
employed  in  that  cathedral. 

And  now  that  my  temper  is  up,  I  may  as  well  go 
on  and  abuse  everybody  I  can  think  of.  They  have 
a  grand  mausoleum  in  Florence,  which  they  built  to 
bury  our  Lord  and  Saviour  and  the  Medici  family 
in.  It  sounds  blasphemous,  but  tt  is  true,  and  here 
they  act  blasphemy.  The  dead  and  damned  Medicis 
who  cruelly  tyrannized  over  Florence  and  were  her 
curse  for  over  two  hundred  years,  are  salted  away  in 
a  circle  of  costly  vaults,  and  in  their  midst  the  Holy 
Sepulchre  was  to  have  been  set  up.  The  expedition 
sent  to  Jerusalem  to  seize  it  got  into  trouble  and 
could  not  accomplish  the  burglary,  and  so  the  center 
of  the  mausoleum  is  vacant  now.  They  say  the 
entire  mausoleum  was  intended  for  the  Holy  Sepul 
chre,  and  was  only  turned  into  a  family  burying 
place  after  the  Jerusalem  expedition  failed  —  but 
you  will  excuse  me.  Some  of  those  Medicis  would 


The  Innocents  Abroad  331 

have  smuggled  themselves  in  sure.  What  they  had 
not  the  effrontery  to  do,  was  not  worth  doing. 
Why,  they  had  their  trivial,  forgotten  exploits  on 
land  and  sea  pictured  out  in  grand  frescoes  (as  did 
also  the  ancient  doges  of  Venice)  with  the  Saviour 
and  the  Virgin  throwing  bouquets  to  them  out  of  the 
clouds,  and  the  Deity  himself  applauding  from  his 
throne  in  Heaven  !  And  who  painted  these  things? 
Why,  Titian,  Tintoretto,  Paul  Veronese,  Raphael  — 
none  other  than  the  world's  idols,  the  "  old  mas 
ters/' 

Andrea  del  Sarto  glorified  his  princes  in  pictures 
that  must  save  them  forever  from  the  oblivion  they 
merited,  and  they  let  him  starve.  Served  him  right. 
Raphael  pictured  such  infernal  villains  as  Catherine 
and  Marie  de  Medici  seated  in  heaven  and  con 
versing  familiarly  with  the  Virgin  Mary  and  the 
angels  (to  say  nothing  of  higher  personages),  and 
yet  my  friends  abuse  me  because  I  am  a  little  preju 
diced  against  the  old  masters  —  because  I  fail  some 
times  to  see  the  beauty  that  is  in  their  productions. 
I  cannot  help  but  see  it,  now  and  then,  but  I  keep 
on  protesting  against  the  groveling  spirit  that  could 
persuade  those  masters  to  prostitute  their  noble 
talents  to  the  adulation  of  such  monsters  as  the 
French,  Venetian,  and  Florentine  princes  of  two  and 
three  hundred  years  ago,  all  the  same. 

I  am  told  that  the  old  masters  had  to  do  these 
shameful  things  for  bread,  the  princes  and  potentates 
being  the  only  patrons  of  art.  If  a  grandly  gifted 


332  The  Innocents  Abroad 

man  may  drag  his  pride  and  his  manhood  in  the  dirt 
for  bread  rather  than  starve  with  the  nobility  that  is 
in  him  untainted,  the  excuse  is  a  valid  one.  It 
would  excuse  theft  in  Washingtons  and  Wellingtons, 
and  unchastity  in  women  as  well. 

But,  somehow,  I  cannot  keep  that  Medici  mauso 
leum  out  of  my  memory.  It  is  as  large  as  a  church ; 
its  pavement  is  rich  enough  for  the  pavement  of  a 
king's  palace;  its  great  dome  is  gorgeous  with  fres 
coes;  its  walls  are  made  of  —  what?  Marble?  — 
plaster  ?  —  wood  ?  —  paper  ? — No.  Red  porphyry — 
verde  antique  —  jasper  —  oriental  agate  —  alabaster 
—  mother-of-pearl  —  chalcedony  —  red  coral  —  lapis 
lazuli !  All  the  vast  walls  are  made  wholly  of  these 
precious  stones,  worked  in  and  in  and  in  together 
in  elaborate  patterns  and  figures,  and  polished  till 
they  glow  like  great  mirrors  with  the  pictured  splen 
dors  reflected  from  the  dome  overhead.  And  before 
a  statue  of  one  of  those  dead  Medicis  reposes  a 
crown  that  blazes  with  diamonds  and  emeralds 
enough  to  buy  a  ship-of-the-line,  almost.  These 
are  the  things  the  government  has  its  evil  eye  upon, 
and  a  happy  thing  it  will  be  for  Italy  when  they 
melt  away  in  the  public  treasury. 

And  now — .  However,  another  beggar  ap 
proaches.  I  will  go  out  and  destroy  him,  and  then 
come  back  and  write  another  chapter  of  vituperation. 

Having  eaten  the  friendless  orphan  —  having 
driven  away  his  comrades  —  having  grown  calm  and 
reflective  at  length  —  I  now  feel  in  a  kindlier  mood. 


The  Innocents  Abroad  333 

I  feel  that  after  talking  so  freely  about  the  priests 
and  the  churches,  justice  demands  that  if  I  know 
anything  good  about  either  I  ought  to  say  it.  I 
have  heard  of  many  things  that  redound  to  the 
credit  of  the  priesthood,  but  the  most  notable  matter 
that  occurs  to  me  now  is  the  devotion  one  of  the 
mendicant  orders  showed  during  the  prevalence  of 
the  cholera  last  year.  I  speak  of  the  Dominican 
friars  —  men  who  wear  a  coarse,  heavy  brown  robe 
and  a  cowl,  in  this  hot  climate,  and  go  barefoot. 
They  live  on  alms  altogether,  I  believe.  They  must 
unquestionably  love  their  religion,  to  suffer  so  much 
for  it.  When  the  cholera  was  raging  in  Naples; 
when  the  people  were  dying  by  hundreds  and  hun 
dreds  every  day ;  when  every  concern  for  the  public 
welfare  was  swallowed  up  in  selfish  private  interest, 
and  every  citizen  made  the  taking  care  of  himself 
his  sole  object,  these  men  banded  themselves  together 
and  went  about  nursing  the  sick  and  burying  the 
dead.  Their  noble  efforts  cost  many  of  them  their 
lives.  They  laid  them  down  cheerfully,  and  well 
they  might.  Creeds  mathematically  precise,  and 
hair-splitting  niceties  of  doctrine,  are  absolutely, 
necessary  for  the  salvation  of  some  kinds  of  souls, 
but  surely  the  charity,  the  purity,  the  unselfishness 
that  are  in  the  hearts  of  men  like  these  would  save 
their  souls  though  they  were  bankrupt  in  the  true 
religion  —  which  is  ours. 

One  of  these  fat  barefooted  rascals  came  here  to 
Civita  Vecchia  with  us  in  the  little  French  steamer. 


334  The  Innocents  Abroad 

There  were  only  half  a  dozen  of  us  in  the  cabin. 
He  belonged  in  the  steerage.  He  was  the  life  of  the 
ship,  the  bloody-minded  son  of  the  Inquisition  !  He 
and  the  leader  of  the  marine  band  of  a  French  man- 
of-war  played  on  the  piano  and  sang  opera  turn 
about;  they  sang  duets  together;  they  rigged  im 
promptu  theatrical  costumes  and  gave  us  extravagant 
farces  and  pantomimes.  We  got  along  first-rate 
with  the  friar,  and  were  excessively  conversational, 
albeit  he  could  not  understand  what  we  said,  and 
certainly  he  never  uttered  a  word  that  we  could 
guess  the  meaning  of. 

This  Civita  Vecchia  is  the  finest  nest  of  dirt, 
vermin,  and  ignorance  we  have  found  yet,  except 
that  African  perdition  they  call  Tangier,  which  is 
just  like  it.  The  people  here  live  in  alleys  two 
yards  wide,  which  have  a  smell  about  them  which  is 
peculiar  but  not  entertaining.  It  is  well  the  alleys 
are  not  wider,  because  they  hold  as  much  smell  now 
as  a  person  can  stand,  and,  of  course,  if  they  were 
wider  they  would  hold  more,  and  then  the  people 
would  die.  These  alleys  are  paved  with  stone,  and 
carpeted  with  deceased  cats,  and  decayed  rags,  and 
decomposed  vegetable  tops,  and  remnants  of  old 
boots,  all  soaked  with  dish-water,  and  the  people  sit 
around  on  stools  and  enjoy  it.  They  are  indolent, 
as  a  general  thing,  and  yet  have  few  pastimes. 
They  work  two  or  three  hours  at  a  time,  but  not 
hard,  and  then  they  knock  off  and  catch  flies.  This 
does  not  require  any  talent,  because  they  only  have 


The  Innocents  Abroad  335 

to  grab  —  if  they  do  not  get  the  one  they  are  after, 
they  get  another.  It  is  all  the  same  to  them.  They 
have  no  partialities.  Whichever  one  they  get  is  the 
one  they  want. 

They  have  other  kinds  of  insects,  but  it  does  not 
make  them  arrogant.  They  are  very  quiet,  unpre 
tending  people.  They  have  more  of  these  kind  of 
things  than  other  communities,  but  they  do  not 
boast. 

They  are  very  uncleanly  —  these  people  —  in  face, 
in  person,  and  dress.  When  they  see  anybody  with 
a  clean  shirt  on,  it  arouses  their  scorn.  The  women 
wash  clothes,  half  the  day,  at  the  public  tanks  in 
the  streets,  but  they  are  probably  somebody  else's. 
Or  may  be  they  keep  one  set  to  wear  and  another 
to  wash ;  because  they  never  put  on  any  that  have 
ever  been  washed.  When  they  get  done  wash 
ing,  they  sit  in  the  alleys  and  nurse  their  cubs. 
They  nurse  one  ash-cat  at  a  time,  and  the  others 
scratch  their  backs  against  the  door-post  and  are 
happy. 

All  this  country  belongs  to  the  Papal  states. 
They  do  not  appear  to  have  any  schools  here,  and 
only  one  billiard  table.  Their  education  is  at  a 
very  low  stage.  One  portion  of  the  men  go  into  the 
military,  another  into  the  priesthood,  and  the  rest 
into  the  shoemaking  business. 

They  keep  up  the  passport  system  here,  but  so 
they  do  in  Turkey.  This  shows  that  the  Papal 
states  are  as  far  advanced  as  Turkey.  This  fact  will 


336  The  Innocents  Abroad 

be  alone  sufficient  to  silence  the  tongues  of  malignant 
calumniators.  I  had  to  get  my  passport  vis<?d  for 
Rome  in  Florence,  and  then  they  would  not  let  me 
come  ashore  here  until  a  policeman  had  examined  it 
on  the  wharf  and  sent  me  a  permit.  They  did  not 
even  dare  to  let  me  take  my  passport  in  my  hands 
for  twelve  hours,  I  looked  so  formidable.  They 
judged  it  best  to  let  me  cool  down.  They  thought 
I  wanted  to  take  the  town,  likely.  Little  did  they 
know  me.  I  wouldn't  have  it.  They  examined  my 
baggage  at  the  depot.  They  took  one  of  my  ablest 
jokes  and  read  it  over  carefully  twice  and  then  read 
it  backwards.  But  it  was  too  deep  for  them.  They 
passed  it  around,  and  everybody  speculated  on  it 
awhile,  but  it  mastered  them  all. 

It  was  no  common  joke.  At  length  a  veteran 
officer  spelled  it  over  deliberately  and  shook  his  head 
three  or  four  times  and  said  that,  in  his  opinion,  it 
was  seditious.  That  was  the  first  time  I  felt 
alarmed.  I  immediately  said  I  would  explain  the 
document,  and  they  crowded  around.  And  so 
I  explained  and  explained  and  explained,  and  they 
took  notes  of  all  I  said,  but  the  more  I  explained 
the  more  they  could  not  understand  it,  and  when 
they  desisted  at  last,  I  could  not  even  understand  it 
myself.  They  said  they  believed  it  was  an  incen 
diary  document,  leveled  at  the  government.  I  de 
clared  solemnly  that  it  was  not,  but  they  only  shook 
their  heads  and  would  not  be  satisfied.  Then  they 
consulted  a  good  while ;  and  finally  they  confiscated 


The  Innocents  Abroad  337 

it.  I  was  very  sorry  for  this,  because  I  had  worked 
a  long  time  on  that  joke,  and  took  a  good  deal  of 
pride  in  it,  and  now  I  suppose  I  shall  never  see  it 
any  more.  I  suppose  it  will  be  sent  up  and  filed 
away  among  the  criminal  archives  of  Rome,  and 
will  always  be  regarded  as  a  mysterious  infernal 
machine  which  would  have  blown  up  like  a  mine  and 
scattered  the  good  Pope  all  around,  but  for  a 
miraculous  providential  interference.  And  I  sup 
pose  that  all  the  time  I  am  in  Rome  the  police  will 
dog  me  about  from  place  to  place  because  they 
think  I  am  a  dangerous  character. 

It  is  fearfully  hot  in  Civita  Vecchia.  The  streets 
are  made  very  narrow  and  the  houses  built  very 
solid  and  heavy  and  high,  as  a  protection  against 
the  heat.  This  is  the  first  Italian  town  I  have  seen 
which  does  not  appear  to  have  a  patron  saint.  I 
suppose  no  saint  but  the  one  that  went  up  in  the 
chariot  of  fire  could  stand  the  climate. 

There  is  nothing  here  to  see.  They  have  not 
even  a  cathedral,  with  eleven  tons  of  solid  silver 
archbishops  in  the  back  room;  and  they  do  not 
show  you  any  moldy  buildings  that  are  seven  thou 
sand  years  old  ;  nor  any  smoke-dried  old  fire-screens 
which  are  chef  d' oeuvres  of  Rubens  or  Simpson,  or 
Titian  or  Ferguson,  or  any  of  those  parties;  and 
they  haven't  any  bottled  fragments  of  saints,  and 
not  even  a  nail  from  the  true  cross.  We  are  going 
to  Rome.  There  is  nothing  to  see  here. 
22. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

WHAT  is  it  that  confers  the  noblest  delight? 
What  is  that  which  swells  a  man's  breast  with 
pride  above  that  which  any  other  experience  can 
bring  to  him?  Discovery!  To  know  that  you  are 
walking  where  none  others  have  walked ;  that  you 
are  beholding  what  human  eye  has  not  seen  before; 
that  you  are  breathing  a  virgin  atmosphere.  To 
give  birth  to  an  idea  —  to  discover  a  great  thought 
• —  an  intellectual  nugget,  right  under  the  dust  of  a 
field  that  many  a  brain-plow  had  gone  over  before. 
To  find  a  new  planet,  to  invent  a  new  hinge,  to  find 
the  way  to  make  the  lightnings  carry  your  messages. 
To  be  \hzjirst — that  is  the  idea.  To  do  some 
thing,  say  something,  see  something,  before  anybody 
else — -these  are  the  things  that  confer  a  pleasure 
compared  with  which  other  pleasures  are  tame  and 
commonplace,  other  ecstasies  cheap  and  trivial. 
Morse,  with  his  first  message,  brought  by  his 
servant,  the  lightning;  Fulton,  in  that  long-drawn 
century  of  suspense,  when  he  placed  his  hand  upon 
the  throttle-valve,  and  lo,  the  steamboat  moved; 
Jenner,  when  his  patient  with  the  cow's  virus  in  his 

(338) 


The  Innocents  Abroad  339 

blood,  walked  through  the  small-pox  hospitals  un 
scathed  ;  Howe,  when  the  idea  shot  through  his 
brain  that  for  a  hundred  and  twenty  generations  the 
eye  had  been  bored  through  the  wrong  end  of  the 
needle ;  the  nameless  lord  of  art  who  laid  down  his 
chisel  in  some  old  age  that  is  forgotten  now,  and 
gloated  upon  the  finished  Laocoon;  Daguerre,  when 
he  commanded  the  sun,  riding  in  the  zenith,  to  print 
the  landscape  upon  his  insignificant  silvered  plate, 
and  he  obeyed;  Columbus,  in  the  Pinta's  shrouds, 
when  he  swung  his  hat  above  a  fabled  sea  and  gazed 
abroad  upon  an  unknown  world !  These  are  the 
men  who  have  really  lived — who  have  actually 
comprehended  what  pleasure  is  —  who  have  crowded 
long  lifetimes  of  ecstasy  into  a  single  moment. 

What  is  there  in  Rome  for  me  to  see  that  others 
have  not  seen  before  me  ?  What  is  there  for  me  to 
touch  that  others  have  not  touched  ?  What  is  there 
for  me  to  feel,  to  learn,  to  hear,  to  know,  that  shall 
thrill  me  before  it  pass  to  others?  What  can  I  dis 
cover?  Nothing.  Nothing  whatsoever.  One  charm 
of  travel  dies  here.  But  if  I  were  only  a  Roman ! 
If,  added  to  my  own  I  could  be  gifted  with  modern 
Roman  sloth,  modern  Roman  superstition,  and 
modern  Roman  boundlessness  of  ignorance,  what 
bewildering  worlds  of  unsuspected  wonders  I  would 
discover!  Ah,  if  I  were  only  a  habitant  of  the 
Campagna  five  and  twenty  miles  from  Rome ! 
Then  I  would  travel. 

I  would   go  to  America,  and  see,  and  learn,  and 


340  The  Innocents  Abroad 

return  to  the  Campagna  and  stand  before  my 
countrymen  an  illustrious  discoverer.  I  would  say : 
"  I  saw  there  a  country  which  has  no  overshadow 
ing  Mother  Church,  and  yet  the  people  survive.  I 
saw  a  government  which  never  was  protected  by 
foreign  soldiers  at  a  cost  greater  than  that  required 
to  carry  on  the  government  itself.  I  saw  common 
men  and  common  women  who  could  read ;  I  even 
saw  small  children  of  common  country  people  read 
ing  from  books ;  if  I  dared  think  you  would  believe 
it,  I  would  say  they  could  write,  also.  In  the  cities 
I  saw  people  drinking  a  delicious  beverage  made  of 
chalk  and  water,  but  never  once  saw  goats  driven 
through  their  Broadway  or  their  Pennsylvania  avenue 
or  their  Montgomery  street  and  milked  at  the  doors 
of  the  houses.  I  saw  real  glass  windows  in  the 
houses  of  even  the  commonest  people.  Some  of 
the  houses  are  not  of  stone,  nor  yet  of  bricks ;  I 
solemnly  swear  they  are  made  of  wood.  Houses 
there  will  take  fire  and  burn,  sometimes  —  actually 
burn  entirely  down,  and  not  leave  a  single  vestige 
behind.  I  could  state  that  for  a  truth,  upon  my 
death-bed.  And  as  a  proof  that  the  circumstance  is 
not  rare,  I  aver  that  they  have  a  thing  which  they 
call  a  fire-engine,  which  vomits  forth  great  streams 
of  water,  and  is  kept  always  in  readiness,  by  night 
and  by  day,  to  rush  to  houses  that  are  burning. 
You  would  think  one  engine  would  be  sufficient,  but 
some  great  cities  have  a  hundred;  they  keep  men 
hired,  and  pay  them  by  the  month  to  do  nothing 


The  Innocents  Abroad  341 

but  put  out  fires.  For  a  certain  sum  of  money  other 
men  will  insure  that  your  house  shall  not  burn 
down;  and  if  it  burns  they  will  pay  you  for  it. 
There  are  hundreds  and  thousands  of  schools,  and 
anybody  may  go  and  learn  to  be  wise,  like  a  priest. 
In  that  singular  country,  if  a  rich  man  dies  a  sinner, 
he  is  damned ;  he  cannot  buy  salvation  with  money 
for  masses.  There  is  really  not  much  use  in  being 
rich,  there.  Not  much  use  as  far  as  the  other  world 
is  concerned,  but  much,  very  much  use,  as  concerns 
this;  because  there,  if  a  man  be  rich,  he  is  very 
greatly  honored,  and  can  become  a  legislator,  a 
governor,  a  general,  a  senator,  no  matter  how  igno 
rant  an  ass  he  is  —  just  as  in  our  beloved  Italy  the 
nobles  hold  all  the  great  places,  even  though  some 
times  they  are  born  noble  idiots.  There,  if  a  man 
be  rich,  they  give  him  costly  presents,  they  ask  him 
to  feasts,  they  invite  him  to  drink  complicated 
beverages ;  but  if  he  be  poor  and  in  debt,  they  re 
quire  him  to  do  that  which  they  term  to  *  settle.' 
The  women  put  on  a  different  dress  almost  every 
day;  the  dress  is  usually  fine,  but  absurd  in  shape; 
the  very  shape  and  fashion  of  it  changes  twice  in  a 
hundred  years ;  and  did  I  but  covet  to  be  called  an 
extravagant  falsifier,  I  would  say  it  changed  even 
oftener.  Hair  does  not  grow  upon  the  American 
women's  heads;  it  is  made  for  them  by  cunning 
workmen  in  the  shops,  and  is  curled  and  frizzled 
into  scandalous  and  ungodly  forms.  Some  persons 
wear  eyes  of  glass  which  they  see  through  with 


342  The  Innocents  Abroad 

facility  perhaps,  else  they  would  not  use  them;  and 
in  the  mouths  of  some  are  teeth  made  by  the  sacri 
legious  hand  of  man.  The  dress  of  the  men  is 
laughably  grotesque.  They  carry  no  musket  in 
ordinary  life,  nor  no  long-pointed  pole ;  they  wear 
no  wide  green-lined  cloak;  they  wear  no  peaked 
black  felt  hat,  no  leathern  gaiters  reaching  to  the 
knee,  no  goatskin  breeches  with  the  hair  side  out, 
no  hob-nailed  shoes,  no  prodigious  spurs.  They 
wear  a  conical  hat  termed  a '  nail-kag ' ;  a  coat  of 
saddest  black;  a  shirt  which  shows  dirt  so  easily 
that  it  has  to  be  changed  every  month,  and  is  very 
troublesome;  things  called  pantaloons,  which  are 
held  up  by  shoulderstraps,  and  on  their  feet  they 
wear  boots  which  are  ridiculous  in  pattern  and  can 
stand  no  wear.  Yet  dressed  in  this  fantastic  garb, 
these  people  laughed  at  my  costume.  In  that 
country,  books  are  so  common  that  it  is  really  no 
curiosity  to  see  one.  Newspapers  also.  They  have 
a  great  machine  which  prints  such  things  by  thou 
sands  every  hour. 

"I  saw  common  men  there  —  men  who  were 
neither  priests  nor  princes  —  who  yet  absolutely 
owned  the  land  they  tilled.  It  was  not  rented  from 
the  church,  nor  from  the  nobles.  I  am  ready  to 
take  my  oath  of  this.  In  that  country  you  might 
fall  from  a  third-story  window  three  several  times, 
and  not  mash  either  a  soldier  or  a  priest.  The 
scarcity  of  such  people  is  astonishing.  In  the  cities 
you  will  see  a  dozen  civilians  for  every  soldier,  and 


The  Innocents  Abroad  343 

as  many  for  every  priest  or  preacher.  Jews,  there, 
are  treated  just  like  human  beings,  instead  of  dogs. 
They  can  work  at  any  business  they  please ;  they 
can  sell  brand  new  goods  if  they  want  to ;  they  can 
keep  drugstores ;  they  can  practice  medicine  among 
Christians ;  they  can  even  shake  hands  with  Chris 
tians  if  they  choose ;  they  can  associate  with  them, 
just  the  same  as  one  human  being  does  with  another 
human  being;  they  don't  have  to  stay  shut  up  in 
one  corner  of  the  towns ;  they  can  live  in  any  part 
of  a  town  they  like  best ;  it  is  said  they  even  have 
the  privilege  of  buying  land  and  houses,  and  owning 
them  themselves,  though  I  doubt  that  myself;  they 
never  have  had  to  run  races  naked  through  the 
public  streets,  against  jackasses,  to  please  the  people 
in  carnival  time ;  there  they  never  have  been  driven 
by  the  soldiers  into  a  church  every  Sunday  for  hun 
dreds  of  years  to  hear  themselves  and  their  religion 
especially  and  particularly  cursed ;  at  this  very  day, 
in  that  curious  country,  a  Jew  is  allowed  to  vote, 
hold  office,  yea,  get  up  on  a  rostrum  in  the  public 
street  and  express  his  opinion  of  the  government  if 
the  government  don't  suit  him !  Ah,  it  is  wonder 
ful.  The  common  people  there  know  a  great  deal ; 
they  even  have  the  effrontery  to  complain  if  they 
are  not  properly  governed,  and  to  take  hold  and 
help  conduct  the  government  themselves;  if  they 
had  laws  like  ours,  which  give  one  dollar  of  every 
three  a  crop  produces  to  the  government  for  taxes, 
they  would  have  that  law  altered ;  instead  of  paying 


344  The  Innocents  Abroad 

thirty-three  dollars  in  taxes,  out  of  every  one  hun 
dred  they  receive,  they  complain  if  they  have  to  pay 
seven.  They  are  curious  people.  They  do  not 
know  when  they  are  well  off.  Mendicant  priests  do 
not  prowl  among  them  with  baskets  begging  for  the 
church  and  eating  up  their  substance.  One  hardly 
ever  sees  a  minister  of  the  Gospel  going  around 
there  in  his  bare  feet,  with  a  basket,  begging  for 
subsistence.  In  that  country  the  preachers  are  not 
like  our  mendicant  orders  of  friars  —  they  have  two 
or  three  suits  of  clothing,  and  they  wash  sometimes. 
In  that  land  are  mountains  far  higher  than  the  Alban 
mountains;  the  vast  Roman  Campagna,  a  hundred 
miles  long  and  full  forty  broad,  is  really  small  com 
pared  to  the  United  States  of  America;  the  Tiber, 
that  celebrated  river  of  ours,  which  stretches  its 
mighty  course  almost  two  hundred  miles,  and  which 
a  lad  can  scarcely  throw  a  stone  across  at  Rome,  is 
not  so  long,  nor  yet  so  wide,  as  the  American 
Mississippi  —  nor  yet  the  Ohio,  nor  even  the  Hud 
son.  In  America  the  people  are  absolutely  wiser 
and  know  much  more  than  their  grandfathers  did. 
They  do  not  plow  with  a  sharpened  stick,  nor  yet 
with  a  three-cornered  block  of  wood  that  merely 
scratches  the  top  of  the  ground.  We  do  that  be 
cause  our  fathers  did,  three  thousand  years  ago,  I 
suppose.  But  those  people  have  no  holy  reverence 
for  their  ancestors.  They  plow  with  a  plow  that  is 
a  sharp,  curved  blade  of  iron,  and  it  cuts  into  the 
earth  full  five  inches.  And  this  is  not  all.  They 


The  Innocents  Abroad  345 

cut  their  grain  with  a  horrid  machine  that  mows 
down  whole  fields  in  a  day.  If  I  dared,  I  would  say 
that  sometimes  they  use  a  blasphemous  plow  that 
works  by  fire  and  vapor  and  tears  up  an  acre  of 
ground  in  a  single  hour  —  but  —  but  —  I  see  by  your 
looks  that  you  do  not  believe  the  things  I  am  telling 
you.  Alas,  my  character  is  ruined,  and  I  am  a 
branded  speaker  of  untruths." 

Of  course  we  have  been  to  the  monster  Church  of 
St.  Peter,  frequently.  I  knew  its  dimensions.  I 
knew  it  was  a  prodigious  structure.  I  knew  it  was 
just  about  the  length  of  the  capitol  at  Washington  — 
say  seven  hundred  and  thirty  feet.  I  knew  it  was 
three  hundred  and  sixty-four  feet  wide,  and  conse 
quently  wider  than  the  capitol.  I  knew  that  the 
cross  on  the  top  of  the  dome  of  the  church  was  four 
hundred  and  thirty-eight  feet  above  the  ground,  and 
therefore  about  a  hundred  or  may  be  a  hundred  and 
twenty-five  feet  higher  than  the  dome  of  the  capitol. 
Thus  I  had  one  gauge.  I  wished  to  come  as  near 
forming  a  correct  idea  of  how  it  was  going  to  look 
as  possible ;  I  had  a  curiosity  to  see  how  much  I 
would  err.  I  erred  considerably.  St.  Peter's  did 
not  look  nearly  so  large  as  the  capitol,  and  certainly 
not  a  twentieth  part  as  beautiful,  from  the  outside. 

When  we  reached  the  door,  and  stood  fairly  within 
the  church,  it  was  impossible  to  comprehend  that  it 
was  a  very  large  building.  I  had  to  cipher  a  com 
prehension  of  it.  I  had  to  ransack  my  memory  for 
some  more  similes.  St.  Peter's  is  bulky.  Its  height 


346  The  Innocents  Abroad 

and  size  would  represent  two  of  the  Washington 
capitol  set  one  on  top  of  the  other — if  the  capitol 
were  wider ;  or  two  blocks  or  two  blocks  and  a  half 
of  ordinary  buildings  set  one  on  top  of  the  other. 
St.  Peter's  was  that  large,  but  it  could  and  would 
not  look  so.  The  trouble  was  that  everything  in  it 
and  about  it  was  on  such  a  scale  of  uniform  vastness 
that  there  were  no  contrasts  to  judge  by — none  but 
the  people,  and  I  had  not  noticed  them.  They 
were  insects.  The  statues  of  children  holding  vases 
of  holy  water  were  immense,  according  to  the  tables 
of  figures,  but  so  was  everything  else  around  them. 
The  mosaic  pictures  in  the  dome  were  huge,  and 
were  made  of  thousands  and  thousands  of  cubes  of 
glass  as  large  as  the  end  of  my  little  finger,  but 
those  pictures  looked  smooth,  and  gaudy  of  color, 
and  in  good  proportion  to  the  dome.  Evidently 
they  would  not  answer  to  measure  by.  Away  down 
toward  the  far  end  of  the  church  (I  thought  it  was 
really  clear  at  the  far  end,  but  discovered  afterward 
that  it  was  in  the  center,  under  the  dome)  stood  the 
thing  they  call  the  baldacchino  —  a  great  bronze 
pyramidal  frame-work  like  that  which  upholds  a 
mosquito-bar.  It  only  looked  like  a  considerably 
magnified  bedstead  —  nothing  more.  Yet  I  knew  it 
was  a  good  deal  more  than  half  as  high  as  Niagara 
Falls.  It  was  overshadowed  by  a  dome  so  mighty 
that  its  own  height  was  snubbed.  The  four  great 
square  piers  or  pillars  that  stand  equidistant  from 
each  other  in  the  church,  and  support  the  roof,  I 


The  Innocents  Abroad  347 

could  not  work  up  to  their  real  dimensions  by  any 
method  of  comparison.  I  knew  that  the  faces  of 
each  were  about  the  width  of  a  very  large  dwelling- 
house  front  (fifty  or  sixty  feet),  and  that  they  were 
twice  as  high  as  an  ordinary  three-story  dwelling, 
but  still  they  looked  small.  I  tried  all  the  different 
ways  I  could  think  of  to  compel  myself  to  under 
stand  how  large  St.  Peter's  was,  but  with  small  suc 
cess.  The  mosaic  portrait  of  an  Apostle  who  was 
writing  with  a  pen  six  feet  long  seemed  only  an 
ordinary  Apostle. 

But  the  people  attracted  my  attention  after  a 
while.  To  stand  in  the  door  of  St.  Peter's  and  look 
at  men  down  toward  its  further  extremity,  two  blocks 
away,  has  a  diminishing  effect  on  them;  surrounded 
by  the  prodigious  pictures  and  statues,  and  lost  in 
the  vast  spaces,  they  look  very  much  smaller  than 
they  would  if  they  stood  two  blocks  away  in  the 
open  air.  I  "averaged"  a  man  as  he  passed  me 
and  watched  him  as  he  drifted  far  down  by  the 
baldacchino  and  beyond  —  watched  him  dwindle  to 
an  insignificant  school-boy,  and  then,  in  the  midst 
of  the  silent  throng  of  human  pigmies  gliding  about 
him,  I  lost  him.  The  church  had  lately  been 
decorated,  on  the  occasion  of  a  great  ceremony  in 
honor  of  St.  Peter,  and  men  were  engaged  now  in 
removing  the  flowers  and  gilt  paper  from  the  walls 
and  pillars.  As  no  ladders  could  reach  the  great 
heights,  the  men  swung  themselves  down  from 
balustrades  and  the  capitals  of  pilasters  by  ropes,  to 


348  The  Innocents  Abroad 

do  this  work.  The  upper  gallery  which  encircles 
the  inner  sweep  of  the  dome  is  two  hundred  and 
forty  feet  above  the  floor  of  the  church  —  very  few 
steeples  in  America  could  reach  up  to  it.  Visitors 
always  go  up  there  to  look  down  into  the  church 
because  one  gets  the  best  idea  of  some  of  the 
heights  and  distances  from  that  point.  While  we 
stood  on  the  floor  one  of  the  workmen  swung  loose 
from  that  gallery  at  the  end  of  a  long  rope.  I  had 
not  supposed,  before,  that  a  man  could  look  so 
much  like  a  spider.  He  was  insignificant  in  size, 
and  his  rope  seemed  only  a  thread.  Seeing  that  he 
took  up  so  little  space,  I  could  believe  the  story, 
then,  that  ten  thousand  troops  went  to  St.  Peter's 
once  to  hear  mass,  and  their  commanding  officer 
came  afterward,  and  not  finding  them,  supposed 
they  had  not  yet  arrived.  But  they  were  in  the 
church,  nevertheless  —  they  were  in  one  of  the 
transepts.  Nearly  fifty  thousand  persons  assembled 
in  St.  Peter's  to  hear  the  publishing  of  the  dogma  of 
the  Immaculate  Conception.  It  is  estimated  that  the 
floor  of  the  church  affords  standing  room  for  —  for  a 
large  number  of  people ;  I  have  forgotten  the  exact 
figures.  But  it  is  no  matter  —  it  is  near  enough. 

They  have  twelve  small  pillars,  in  St.  Peter's, 
which  came  from  Solomon's  Temple.  They  have, 
also  —  which  was  far  more  interesting  to  me  —  a 
piece  of  the  true  cross,  and  some  nails,  and  a  part 
of  the  crown  of  thorns. 

Of   course,   we  ascended   to  the  summit  of   the 


The  Innocents  Abroad  349 

dome,  and,  of  course,  we  also  went  up  into  the  gilt 
copper  ball  which  is  above  it.  There  was  room 
there  for  a  dozen  persons,  with  a  little  crowding,  and 
it  was  as  close  and  hot  as  an  oven.  Some  of  those 
people  who  are  so  fond  of  writing  their  names  in 
prominent  places  had  been  there  before  us  —  a 
million  or  two,  I  should  think.  From  the  dome  of 
St.  Peter's  one  can  see  every  notable  object  in 
Rome,  from  the  Castle  of  St.  Angelo  to  the 
Coliseum.  He  can  discern  the  seven  hills  upon 
which  Rome  is  built.  He  can  see  the  Tiber,  and 
the  locality  of  the  bridge  which  Horatius  kept  "  in 
the  brave  days  of  old  ' '  when  Lars  Porsena  attempted 
to  cross  it  with  his  invading  host.  He  can  see  the 
spot  where  the  Horatii  and  the  Curiatii  fought  their 
famous  battle.  He  can  see  the  broad  green  Cam- 
pagna,  stretching  away  toward  the  mountains,  with 
its  scattered  arches  and  broken  aqueducts  of  the 
olden  time,  so  picturesque  in  their  gray  ruin,  and  so 
daintily  festooned  with  vines.  He  can  see  the  Alban 
Mountains,  the  Apennines,  the  Sabine  Hills,  and 
the  blue  Mediterranean.  He  can  see  a  panorama 
that  is  varied,  extensive,  beautiful  to  the  eye,  and 
more  illustrious  in  history  than  any  other  tn  Europe. 
About  his  feet  is  spread  the  remnant  of  a  city  that 
once  had  a  population  of  four  million  souls;  and 
among  its  massed  edifices  stand  the  ruins  of  temples, 
columns,  and  triumphal  arches  that  knew  the 
Caesars,  and  the  noonday  of  Roman  splendor;  and 
close  by  them,  in  unimpaired  strength,  is  a  drain  of 


350  The  Innocents  Abroad 

arched  and  heavy  masonry  that  belonged  to  that 
older  city  which  stood  here  before  Romulus  and 
Remus  were  born  or  Rome  thought  of.  The  Appian 
Way  is  here  yet,  and  looking  much  as  it  did,  per 
haps,  when  the  triumphal  processions  of  the  emper 
ors  moved  over  it  in  other  days  bringing  fettered 
princes  from  the  confines  of  the  earth.  We  cannot 
see  the  long  array  of  chariots  and  mail-clad  men 
laden  with  the  spoils  of  conquest,  but  we  can 
imagine  the  pageant,  after  a  fashion.  We  look  out 
upon  many  objects  of  interest  from  the  dome  of  St. 
Peter's;  and  last  of  all,  almost  at  our  feet,  our  eyes 
rest  upon  the  building  which  was  once  the  Inquisi 
tion.  How  times  changed,  between  the  older  ages 
and  the  new !  Some  seventeen  or  eighteen  centuries 
ago,  the  ignorant  men  of  Rome  were  wont  to  put 
Christians  in  the  arena  of  the  Coliseum  yonder,  and 
turn  the  wild  beasts  in  upon  them  for  a  show.  It 
was  for  a  lesson  as  well.  It  was  to  teach  the  people 
to  abhor  and  fear  the  new  doctrine  the  followers  of 
Christ  were  teaching.  The  beasts  tore  the  victims 
limb  from  limb  and  made  poor  mangled  corpses  of 
them  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye.  But  when  the 
Christians  came  into  power,  when  the  holy  Mother 
Church  became  mistress  of  the  barbarians,  she 
taught  them  the  error  of  their  ways  by  no  such 
means.  No,  she  put  them  in  this  pleasant  Inquisi 
tion  and  pointed  to  the  Blessed  Redeemer,  who  was 
so  gentle  and  so  merciful  toward  all  men,  and  they 
urged  the  barbarians  to  love  him ;  and  they  did  all 


The  Innocents  Abroad  351 

they  could  to  persuade  them  to  love  and  honor  him 
—  first  by  twisting  their  thumbs  out  of  joint  with  a 
screw;  then  by  nipping  their  flesh  with  pincers  — 
red-hot  ones,  because  they  are  the  most  comfortable 
in  cold  weather;  then  by  skinning  them  alive  a 
little,  and  finally  by  roasting  them  in  public.  They 
always  convinced  those  barbarians.  The  true  reli 
gion,  properly  administered,  as  the  good  Mother 
Church  used  to  administer  it,  is  very,  very  soothing. 
It  is  wonderfully  persuasive,  also.  There  is  a  great 
difference  between  feeding  parties  to  wild  beasts  and 
stirring  up  their  finer  feelings  in  an  Inquisition. 
One  is  the  system  of  degraded  barbarians,  the  other 
of  enlightened,  civilized  people.  It  is  a  great  pity 
the  playful  Inquisition  is  no  more. 

I  prefer  not  to  describe  St.  Peter's.  It  has  been 
done  before.  The  ashes  of  Peter,  the  disciple  of 
the  Saviour,  repose  in  a  crypt  under  the  baldacchino, 
We  stood  reverently  in  that  place ;  so  did  we  also  in 
the  Mamertine  Prison,  where  he  was  confined,  where 
he  converted  the  soldiers,  and  where  tradition  says 
he  caused  a  spring  of  water  to  flow  in  order  that  he 
might  baptize  them.  But  when  they  showed  us  the 
print  of  Peter's  face  in  the  hard  stone  of  the  prison 
wall  and  said  he  made  that  by  falling  up  against  it, 
we  doubted.  And  when,  also,  the  monk  at  the 
Church  of  San  Sebastian  showed  us  a  paving  stone 
with  two  great  footprints  in  it  and  said  that  Peter's 
feet  made  those,  we  lacked  confidence  again.  Such 
things  do  not  impress  one.  The  monk  said  that 


352  The  Innocents  Abroad 

angels  came  and  liberated  Peter  from  prison  by 
night,  and  he  started  away  from  Rome  by  the  Ap- 
pian  Way.  The  Saviour  met  him  and  told  him  to 
go  back,  which  he  did.  Peter  left  those  footprints 
in  the  stone  upon  which  he  stood  at  the  time.  It 
was  not  stated  how  it  was  ever  discovered  whose 
footprints  they  were,  seeing  the  interview  occurred 
secretly  and  at  night.  The  print  of  the  face  in  the 
prison  was  that  of  a  man  of  common  size ;  the  foot 
prints  were  those  of  a  man  ten  or  twelve  feet  high. 
The  discrepancy  confirmed  our  unbelief. 

We  necessarily  visited  the  Forum,  where  Caesar 
was  assassinated,  and  also  the  Tarpeian  Rock.  We 
saw  the  Dying  Gladiator  at  the  Capitol,  and  I  think 
that  even  we  appreciated  that  wonder  of  art;  as 
much,  perhaps,  as  we  did  that  fearful  story  wrought 
in  marble,  in  the  Vatican  —  the  Laocoon.  And 
then  the  Coliseum. 

Everybody  knows  the  picture  of  the  Coliseum; 
everybody  recognizes  at  once  that  "  looped  and 
windowed  "  band-box  with  a  side  bitten  out.  Being 
rather  isolated,  it  shows  to  better  advantage  than 
any  other  of  the  monuments  of  ancient  Rome. 
Even  the  beautiful  Pantheon,  whose  pagan  altars 
uphold  the  cross  now,  and  whose  Venus,  tricked  out 
in  consecrated  gimcracks,  does  reluctant  duty  as  a 
Virgin  Mary  to-day,  is  built  about  with  shabby 
houses  and  its  stateliness  sadly  marred.  But  the 
monarch  of  all  European  ruins,  the  Coliseum, 
maintains  that  reserve  and  that  royal  seclusion  which 


The  Innocents  Abroad  353 

is  proper  to  majesty.  Weeds  and  flowers  spring 
from  its  massy  arches  and  its  circling  seats,  and 
vines  hang  their  fringes  from  its  lofty  walls.  An 
impressive  silence  broods  over  the  monstrous  struc 
ture  where  such  multitudes  of  men  and  women  were 
wont  to  assemble  in  other  days.  The  butterflies 
have  taken  the  places  of  the  queens  of  fashion  and 
beauty  of  eighteen  centuries  ago,  and  the  lizards  sun 
themselves  in  the  sacred  seat  of  the  emperor.  More 
vividly  than  all  the  written  histories,  the  Coliseum 
tells  the  story  of  Rome's  grandeur  and  Rome's 
decay.  It  is  the  worthiest  type  of  both  that  exists. 
Moving  about  the  Rome  of  to-day,  we  might  find  it 
hard  to  believe  in  her  old  magnificence  and  her 
millions  of  population ;  but  with  this  stubborn  evi 
dence  before  us  that  she  was  obliged  to  have  a 
theater  with  sitting  room  for  eighty  thousand  per 
sons  and  standing  room  for  twenty  thousand  more, 
to  accommodate  such  of  her  citizens  as  required 
amusement,  we  find  belief  less  difficult.  The  Coli* 
seum  is  over  one  thousand  six  hundred  feet  long, 
seven  hundred  and  fifty  wide,  and  one  hundred  and 
sixty-five  high.  Its  shape  is  oval. 

In  America  we  make  convicts  useful  at  the  same 
time  that  we  punish  them  for  their  crimes.  We 
farm  them  out  and  compel  them  to  earn  money  for 
the  state  by  making  barrels  and  building  roads. 
Thus  we  combine  business  with  retribution,  and  all 
things  are  lovely.  But  in  ancient  Rome  they  com 
bined  religious  duty  with  pleasure.  Since  it  wag 
23. 


354  The  Innocents  Abroad 

necessary  that  the  new  sect  called  Christians  should 
be  exterminated,  the  people  judged  it  wise  to  make 
this  work  profitable  to  the  state  at  the  same  time, 
and  entertaining  to  the  public.  In  addition  to  the 
gladiatorial  combats  and  other  shows,  they  some 
times  threw  members  of  the  hated  sect  into  the 
arena  of  the  Coliseum  and  turned  wild  beasts  in 
upon  them.  It  is  estimated  that  seventy  thousand 
Christians  suffered  martyrdom  in  this  place.  This 
has  made  the  Coliseum  holy  ground,  in  the  eyes  of 
the  followers  of  the  Saviour.  And  well  it  might; 
for  if  the  chain  that  bound  a  saint,  and  the  footprints 
a  saint  has  left  upon  a  stone  he  chanced  to  stand 
upon,  be  holy,  surely  the  spot  where  a  man  gave  up 
his  life  for  his  faith  is  holy. 

Seventeen  or  eighteen  centuries  ago  this  Coliseum 
was  the  theater  of  Rome,  and  Rome  was  mistress  of 
the  world.  Splendid  pageants  were  exhibited  here, 
in  presence  of  the  emperor,  the  great  ministers  of 
state,  the  nobles,  and  vast  audiences  of  citizens  of 
smaller  consequence.  Gladiators  fought  with  gladi 
ators  and  at  times  with  warrior  prisoners  from  many 
a  distant  land.  It  was  the  theater  of  Rome  —  of  the 
world  —  and  the  man  of  fashion  who  could  not  let 
fall  in  a  casual  and  unintentional  manner  something 
about  "  my  private  box  at  the  Coliseum  "  could  not 
move  in  the  first  circles.  When  the  clothing-store 
merchant  wished  to  consume  the  corner-grocery 
man  with  envy,  he  bought  secured  seats  in  the  front 
row  and  let  the  thing  be  known.  When  the  irre- 


The  Innocents  Abroad  355 

sistible  drygoods  clerk  wished  to  blight  and  destroy, 
according  to  his  native  instinct,  he  got  himself  up 
regardless  of  expense  and  took  some  other  fellow's 
young  lady  to  the  Coliseum,  and  then  accented  the 
affront  by  cramming  her  with  ice-cream  between  the 
acts,  or  by  approaching  the  cage  and  stirring  up  the 
martyrs  with  his  whalebone  cane  for  her  edification. 
The  Roman  swell  was  in  his  true  element  only  when 
he  stood  up  against  a  pillar  and  fingered  his  mous 
tache  unconscious  of  the  ladies;  when  he  viewed  the 
bloody  combats  through  an  opera-glass  two  inches 
long ;  when  he  excited  the  envy  of  provincials  by 
criticisms  which  showed  that  he  had  been  to  the 
Coliseum  many  and  many  a  time  and  was  long  ago 
over  the  novelty  of  it;  when  he  turned  away  with  a 
yawn  at  last  and  said : 

' '  He  a  star !  handles  his  sword  like  an  apprentice 
brigand !  he'll  do  for  the  country,  maybe,  but  he 
don't  answer  for  the  metropolis!" 

Glad  was  the  contraband  that  had  a  seat  in  the  pit 
at  the  Saturday  matinee,  and  happy  the  Roman 
street  boy  who  ate  his  peanuts  and  guyed  the  gladi 
ators  from  the  dizzy  gallery. 

For  me  was  reserved  the  high  honor  of  discover 
ing  among  the  rubbish  of  the  ruined  Coliseum  the 
cnly  playbill  of  that  establishment  now  extant. 
There  was  a  suggestive  smell  of  mint  drops  about  it 
still,  a  corner  of  it  had  evidently  been  chewed,  and 
on  the  margin,  in  choice  Latin,  these  words  were 
written  in  a  delicate  female  hand : 
w* 


356  The  Innocents  Abroad 

"Meet  me  on  the  Tarpeian  Rock  to-morrow  evening^  dear,  at 
sharp  seven.  Mother  will  be  absent  on  a  visit  to  her  friends  in  the 
Sabine  Hills.  CLAUDIA." 

Ah,  where  is  that  lucky  youth  to-day,  and  where 
the  little  hand  that  wrote  those  dainty  lines?  Dust 
and  ashes  these  seventeen  hundred  years ! 

Thus  reads  the  bill : 

ROMAN   COLISEUM. 
UNPARALLELED  ATTRACTION  I 

NEW  PROPERTIES!  NEW  LIONS!   NEW  GLADIATORS  I 

Engagement  of  the  renowned 

MARCUS   MARCELLUS  VALERIAN! 

FOR  SIX  NIGHTS  ONLY! 

The  management  beg  leave  to  offer  to  the  public  an  entertainment 
surpassing  in  magnificence  anything  that  has  heretofore  been  attempted 
on  any  stage.  No  expense  has  been  spared  to  make  the  opening  season 
one  which  shall  be  worthy  the  generous  patronage  which  the  manage 
ment  feel  sure  will  crown  their  efforts.  The  management  beg  leave  to 
state  that  they  have  succeeded  in  securing  the  services  of  a 

GALAXY  OF  TALENT! 
such  as  has  not  been  beheld  in  Rome  before. 

The  performance  will  commence  this  evening  with  a 
GRAND  BROADSWORD  COMBAT! 

between  two  young  and  promising  amateurs  and  a  celebrated  Parthian 
gladiator  who  has  just  arrived  a  prisoner  from  the  Camp  of  Verus. 
This  will  be  followed  by  a  grand  moral 

BATTLE- AX  ENGAGEMENT! 

between  the  renowned  Valerian  (with  one  hand  tied  behind  him)  and 
two  gigantic  savages  from  Britain. 

After  which  the  renowned  Valerian  (if  he  survive)  will  fight  with 
the  broadsword, 

LEFT  HANDED! 
against  six  Sophomores  and  a  Freshman  from  the  Gladiatorial  College  f 


The  Innocents  Abroad  357 

A  long  series  of  brilliant  engagements  will  follow,  in  which  the  finest 
talent  of  the  Empire  will  take  part. 

After  which  the  celebrated  Infant  Prodigy  known  as 

1f  "THE  YOUNG  ACHILLES," 

will  engage  four  tiger  whelps  in  combat,  armed  with  no  other  weapon 
than  his  little  spear ! 

The  whole  to  conclude  with  a  chaste  and  elegant 

GENERAL  SLAUGHTER! 

In  which  thirteen  African  Lions  and  twenty-two  Barbarian  Prisoners 
will  war  with  each  other  until  all  are  exterminated. 
BOX  OFFICE  NOW  OPEN. 

Dress  Circle  One  Dollar;  Children  and  Servants  half  price. 
An  efficient  police  force  will  be  on  hand  to  preserve  order  and  keep 
the  wild  beasts  from  leaping  the  railings  and  discommoding  the  audience. 
Doors  open  at  7;  performance  begins  at  8. 
POSITIVELY  NO  FREE  LIST. 

Diodorus  Job  Press. 

It  was  as  singular  as  it  was  gratifying  that  I  was 
also  so  fortunate  as  to  find  among  the  rubbish  of  the 
arena  a  stained  and  mutilated  copy  of  the  Roman 
Daily  Battle-Axey  containing  a  critique  upon  this 
very  performance.  It  comes  to  hand  too  late  by 
many  centuries  to  rank  as  news,  and  therefore  I 
translate  and  publish  it  simply  to  show  how  very 
little  the  general  style  and  phraseology  of  dramatic 
criticism  has  altered  in  the  ages  that  have  dragged 
their  slow  length  along  since  the  carriers  laid  this 
one  damp  and  fresh  before  their  Roman  patrons : 

"THE  OPENING  SEASON.  —  COLISEUM.  —  Notwithstanding  the  in 
clemency  of  the  weather,  quite  a  respectable  number  of  the  rank  and 
fashion  of  the  city  assembled  last  night  to  witness  the  debut  upon  metro 
politan  boards  of  the  young  tragedian  who  has  of  late  been  winning  such 
golden  opinions  in  the  amphitheaters  of  the  provinces.  Some  sixty 


J58  The  Innocents  Abroad 

thousand  persons  were  present,  and  but  for  the  fact  that  the  streets  were 
almost  impassable,  it  is  fair  to  presume  that  the  house  would  have  been 
full.  His  august  Majesty,  the  Emperor  Aurelius,  occupied  the  impenal 
box,  and  was  the  cynosure  of  all  eyes.  Many  illustrious  nobles  and 
generals  of  the  Empire  graced  the  occasion  with  their  presence,  and  not 
the  least  among  them  was  the  young  patrician  lieutenant  whose  laurels, 
won  in  the  ranks  of  the  'Thundering  Legion,'  are  still  so  green  upon 
his  brow.  The  cheer  which  greeted  his  entrance  was  heard  beyond  the 
Tiber ! 

"  The  late  repairs  and  decorations  add  both  to  the  comeliness  and 
the  comfort  of  the  Coliseum.  The  new  cushions  are  a  great  improve 
ment  upon  the  hard  marble  seats  we  have  been  so  long  accustomed  to. 
The  present  management  deserve  well  of  the  public.  They  have  re 
stored  to  the  Coliseum  the  gilding,  the  rich  upholstery,  and  the  uniform 
magnificence  which  old  Coliseum  frequenters  tell  us  Rome  was  so  proud 
of  fifty  years  ago. 

"The  opening  scene  last  night  —  the  broadsword  combat  between 
two  young  amateurs  and  a  famous  Parthian  gladiator  who  was  sent  here 
a  prisoner  —  was  very  fine.  The  elder  of  the  two  young  gentlemen 
handled  his  weapon  with  a  grace  that  marked  the  possession  of  extraor 
dinary  talent.  His  feint  of  thrusting,  followed  instantly  by  a  happily 
delivered  blow  which  unhelmeted  the  Parthian,  was  received  with  hearty 
applause.  He  was  not  thoroughly  up  in  the  backhanded  stroke,  but  it 
was  very  gratifying  to  his  numerous  friends  to  know  that,  in  time,  prac 
tice  would  have  overcome  this  defect.  However,  he  was  killed.  His 
sisters,  who  were  present,  expressed  considerable  regret.  His  mother 
left  the  Coliseum.  The  other  youth  maintained  the  contest  with  such 
spirit  as  to  call  forth  enthusiastic  bursts  of  applause.  When  at  last  he 
fell  a  corpse,  his  aged  mother  ran  screaming,  with  hair  disheveled  and 
tears  streaming  from  her  eyes,  and  swooned  away  just  as  her  hands  were 
clutching  at  the  railings  of  the  arena.  She  was  promptly  removed  by 
the  police.  Under  the  circumstances  the  woman's  conduct  was  pardon 
able,  perhaps,  but  we  suggest  that  such  exhibitions  interfere  with  the 
decorum  which  should  be  preserved  during  the  performances,  and  are 
highly  improper  in  the  presence  of  the  Emperor.  The  Parthian  prisoner 
fought  bravely  and  well;  and  well  he  might,  for  he  was  fighting  for  both 
life  and  liberty.  His  wife  and  children  were  there  to  nerve  his  arm  with 
their  love,  and  to  remind  him  of  the  old  home  he  should  see  again  if  he 
conquered.  When  his  second  assailant  fell,  the  woman  clasped  her  chil- 


The  Innocents  Abroad  559 

dren  to  her  breast  and  wept  for  joy.  But  it  was  only  a  transient  happi 
ness.  The  captive  staggered  toward  her  and  she  saw  that  the  liberty  he 
had  earned  was  earned  too  late.  He  was  wounded  unto  death.  Thus 
the  first  act  closed  in  a  manner  which  was  entirely  satisfactory.  Fhe 
manager  was  called  before  the  curtain  and  returned  his  thanks  for  the 
honor  done  him,  in  a  speech  which  was  replete  with  wit  and  humor,  and 
closed  by  hoping  that  his  humble  efforts  to  afford  cheerful  and  instruc 
tive  entertainment  would  continue  to  meet  with  the  approbation  of  the 
Roman  public. 

"  The  star  now  appeared,  and  was  received  with  vociferous  applause 
and  the  simultaneous  waving  of  sixty  thousand  handkerchiefs.  Marcus 
Marcellus  Valerian  (stage  name  —  his  real  name  is  Smith)  is  a  splendid 
specimen  of  physical  development,  and  an  artist  of  rare  merit.  His 
management  of  the  battle-axe  is  wonderful.  His  gayety  and  his  playful 
ness  are  irresistible,  in  his  comic  parts,  and  yet  they  are  inferior  to  his 
sublime  conceptions  in  the  grave  realm  of  tragedy.  When  his  axe  was 
describing  fiery  circles  about  the  heads  of  the  bewildered  barbarians,  in 
exact  time  with  his  springing  body  and  his  prancing  legs,  the  audience 
gave  way  to  uncontrollable  bursts  of  laughter;  but  when  the  back  of  his 
weapon  broke  the  skull  of  one  and  almost  in  the  same  instant  its  edge 
clove  the  other's  body  hi  twain,  the  howl  of  enthusiastic  applause  that 
shook  the  building  was  the  acknowledgment  of  a  critical  assemblage 
that  he  was  a  master  of  the  noblest  department  of  his  profession.  If  he 
has  a  fault  (and  we  are  sorry  to  even  intimate  that  he  has),  it  is  that  of 
glancing  at  the  audience,  in  the  midst  of  the  most  exciting  moments  of 
the  performance,  as  if  seeking  admiration.  The  pausing  in  a  fight  to 
bow  when  bouquets  are  thrown  to  him  is  also  in  bad  taste.  In  the  great 
left-handed  combat  he  appeared  to  be  looking  at  the  audience  half  the 
time,  instead  of  carving  his  adversaries;  and  when  he  had  slain  all  the 
sophomores  and  was  dallying  with  the  freshmen,  he  stooped  and  snatched 
a  bouquet  as  it  fell,  and  offered  it  to  his  adversary  at  a  time  when  a  blow 
was  descending  which  promised  favorably  to  be  his  death-warrant. 
Such  levity  is  proper  enough  in  the  provinces,  we  make  no  doubt,  but 
it  ill  suits  the  dignity  of  the  metropolis.  We  trust  our  young  friend  will 
take  these  remarks  in  good  part,  for  we  mean  them  solely  for  his  benefit. 
All  who  know  us  are  aware  that  although  we  are  at  times  justly  severe 
upon  tigers  and  martyrs,  we  never  intentionally  offend  gladiators. 

"The  Infant  Prodigy  performed  wonders.  He  overcame  his  foui 
tiger  whelps  with  ease,  and  with  no  other  hurt  than  the  loss  of  a  portion 


360  The  Innocents  Abroad 

of  his  scalp.  The  General  Slaughter  was  rendered  with  a  faithfulness 
to  details  which  reflects  the  highest  credit  upon  the  late  participants  in  it. 

"Upon  the  whole,  last  night's  performances  shed  honor  not  only 
upon  the  management  but  upon  the  city  that  encourages  and  sustains  such 
wholesome  and  instructive  entertainments.  We  would  simply  suggest 
that  the  practice  of  vulgar  young  boys  in  the  gallery  of  shying  peanuts 
and  paper  pellets  at  the  tigers,  and  saying  '  Hi-yi ! '  and  manifesting 
approbation  or  dissatisfaction  by  such  observations  as  'Bully  for  the 
lion  ! '  'Go  it,  Gladdy  ! '  '  Boots ! '  '  Speech  ! '  '  Take  a  walk  round 
the  block ! '  and  so  on,  are  extremely  reprehensible,  when  the  Emperor 
is  present,  and  ought  to  be  stopped  by  the  police.  Several  times  last 
night,  when  the  supernumeraries  entered  the  arena  to  drag  out  the 
bodies,  the  young  ruffians  in  the  gallery  shouted,  '  Supe !  supe ! '  and 
also,  '  Oh,  what  a  coat ! '  and  '  Why  don't  you  pad  them  shanks? '  and 
made  use  of  various  other  remarks  expressive  of  derision.  These  things 
are  very  annoying  to  the  audience. 

"  A  matinee  for  the  little  folks  is  promised  for  this  afternoon,  on 
which  occasion  several  martyrs  will  be  eaten  by  the  tigers.  The  regular 
performance  will  continue  every  night  till  further  notice.  Material 
change  of  programme  every  evening.  Benefit  of  Valerian,  Tuesday, 
29th,  if  he  lives." 

I  have  been  a  dramatic  critic  myself,  in  my  time, 
and  I  was  often  surprised  to  notice  how  much  more 
I  knew  about  Hamlet  than  Forrest  did;  and  it 
gratifies  me  to  observe,  now,  how  much  better  my 
brethren  of  ancient  times  knew  how  a  broadsword 
battle  ought  to  be  fought  than  the  gladiators. 


CHAPTER    XXVII. 

SO  far,  good.  If  any  man  has  a  right  to  feel 
proud  of  himself,  and  satisfied,  surely  it  is  I. 
For  I  have  written  about  the  Coliseum  and  the 
gladiators,  the  martyrs  and  the  lions,  and  yet  have 
never  once  used  the  phrase  "butchered  to  make  a 
Roman  holiday."  I  am  the  only  free  white  man 
of  mature  age  who  has  accomplished  this  since 
Byron  originated  the  expression. 

Butchered  to  make  a  Roman  holiiiay  sounds  well 
for  the  first  seventeen  or  eighteen  hundred  thousand 
times  one  sees  it  in  print,  but  after  that  it  begins  to 
grow  tiresome.  I  find  it  in  all  the  books  concerning 
Rome  —  and  here  latterly  it  reminds  me  of  Judge 
Oliver.  Oliver  was  a  young  lawyer,  fresh  from  the 
schools,  who  had  gone  out  to  the  deserts  of  Nevada 
to  begin  life.  He  found  that  country,  and  our 
ways  of  life  there,  in  those  early  days,  different 
from  life  in  New  England  or  Paris.  But  he  put  on 
a  woolen  shirt  and  strapped  a  navy  revolver  to  his 
person,  took  to  the  bacon  and  beans  of  the  country, 
and  determined  to  do  in  Nevada  as  Nevada  did. 
Oliver  accepted  the  situation  so  completely  that. 


562  The  Innocents  Abroad 

although  he  must  have  sorrowed  over  many  of  his 
trials,  he  never  complained  —  that  is,  he  never  com 
plained  but  once.  He,  two  others,  and  myself, 
started  to  the  new  silver  mines  in  the  Humboldt 
mountains  —  he  to  be  Probate  Judge  of  Humboldt 
county,  and  we  to  mine.  The  distance  was  two 
hundred  miles.  It  was  dead  of  winter.  We  bought 
a  two-horse  wagon  and  put  eighteen  hundred  pounds 
of  bacon,  flour,  beans,  blasting  powder,  picks,  and 
shovels  in  it ;  we  bought  two  sorry-looking  Mexican 
*' plugs,"  with  the  hair  turned  the  wrong  way  and 
more  corners  on  their  bodies  than  there  are  on  the 
mosque  of  Omar;  we  hitched  up  and  started.  It 
was  a  dreadful  trip.  But  Oliver  did  not  complain. 
The  horses  dragged  the  wagon  two  miles  from  town 
and  then  gave  out.  Then  we  three  pushed  the 
wagon  seven  miles,  and  Oliver  moved  ahead  and 
pulled  the  horses  after  him  by  the  bits.  We  com 
plained,  but  Oliver  did  not.  The  ground  was  frozen, 
and  it  froze  our  backs  while  we  slept;  the  wind 
swept  across  our  faces  and  froze  our  noses.  Oliver 
did  not  complain.  Five  days  of  pushing  the  wagon 
by  day  and  freezing  by  night  brought  us  to  the  bad 
part  of  the  journey  —  the  Forty  Mile  Desert,  or  the 
Great  American  Desert,  if  you  please.  Still,  this 
mildest-mannered  man  that  ever  was  had  not  com 
plained.  We  started  across  at  eight  in  the  morning, 
pushing  through  sand  that  had  no  bottom ;  toiling 
all  day  long  by  the  wrecks  of  a  thousand  wagons, 
the  skeletons  of  ten  thousand  oxen ;  by  wagon-tires 


The  Innocents  Abroad  36) 

enough  to  hoop  the  Washington  Monument  to  the 
top,  and  ox-chains  enough  to  girdle  Long  Island ;  by 
human  graves ;  with  our  throats  parched  always  with 
thirst;  lips  bleeding  from  the  alkali  dust;  hungry, 
perspiring,  and  very,  very  weary  —  so  weary  that 
when  we  dropped  in  the  sand  every  fifty  yards  to 
rest  the  horses,  we  could  hardly  keep  from  going  to 
sleep  —  no  complaints  from  Oliver;  none  the  next 
morning  at  three  o'clock,  when  we  got  across,  tired 
to  death.  Awakened  two  or  three  nights  afterward 
at  midnight,  in  a  narrow  canon,  by  the  snow  falling 
on  our  faces,  and  appalled  at  the  imminent  danger 
of  being  "  snowed  in,"  we  harnessed  up  and  pushed 
on  till  eight  in  the  morning,  passed  the  "Divide" 
and  knew  we  were  saved.  No  complaints.  Fifteen 
days  of  hardship  and  fatigue  brought  us  to  the  end 
of  the  two  hundred  miles,  and  the  judge  had  not 
complained.  We  wondered  if  anything  could  exas 
perate  him.  We  built  a  Humboldt  house.  It  is 
done  in  this  way.  You  dig  a  square  in  the  steep 
base  of  the  mountain,  and  set  up  two  uprights  and 
top  them  with  two  joists.  Then  you  stretch  a  great 
sheet  of  *'  cotton  domestic  "  from  the  point  where 
the  joists  join  the  hillside  down  over  the  joists  to  the 
ground ;  this  makes  the  roof  and  the  front  of  the 
mansion ;  the  sides  and  back  are  the  dirt  walls  your 
digging  has  left.  A  chimney  is  easily  made  by 
turning  up  one  corner  of  the  roof.  Oliver  was  sit 
ting  alone  in  this  dismal  den,  one  night,  by  a  sage 
brush  fire,  writing  poetry;  he  was  very  fond  of 


364  The  Innocents  Abroad 

digging  poetry  out  of  himself — or  blasting  it  out 
when  it  came  hard.  He  heard  an  animal's  footsteps 
close  to  the  roof;  a  stone  or  two  and  some  dirt 
came  through  and  fell  by  him.  He  grew  uneasy 
and  said:  "Hi! — clear  out  from  there,  can't 
you!"  —  from  time  to  time.  But  by  and  by  he 
fell  asleep  where  he  sat,  and  pretty  soon  a  mule  fell 
down  the  chimney !  The  fire  flew  in  every  direc 
tion,  and  Oliver  went  over  backwards.  About  ten 
nights  after  that  he  recovered  confidence  enough  to 
go  to  writing  poetry  again.  Again  he  dozed  off  to 
sleep,  and  again  a  mule  fell  down  the  chimney. 
This  time,  about  half  of  that  side  of  the  house  came 
in  with  the  mule.  Struggling  to  get  up,  the  mule 
kicked  the  candle  out  and  smashed  most  of  the 
kitchen  furniture,  and  raised  considerable  dust. 
These  violent  awakenings  must  have  been  annoying 
to  Oliver,  but  he  never  complained.  He  moved  to 
a  mansion  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  cafion,  be 
cause  he  had  noticed  the  mules  did  not  go  there. 
One  night  about  eight  o'clock  he  was  endeavoring  to 
finish  his  poem,  when  a  stone  rolled  in  —  then  a 
hoof  appeared  below  the  canvas — then  part  of  a 
cow  —  the  after  part.  He  leaned  back  in  dread, 
and  shouted  "Hooy!  hooy!  get  out  of  this!"  and 
the  cow  struggled  manfully  —  lost  ground  steadily  — 
dirt  and  dust  streamed  down,  and  before  Oliver 
could  get  well  away,  the  entire  cow  crashed  through 
on  to  the  table  and  made  a  shapeless  wreck  of  every 
thing! 


The  Innocents  Abroad  365 

Then,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  I  think,  Oliver 
complained.  He  said: 

4  *  This  thing  is  growing  monotonous  /' ' 

Then  he  resigned  his  judgeship  and  left  Humboldt 
county.  "  Butchered  to  make  a  Roman  holiday" 
has  grown  monotonous  to  me. 

In  this  connection  I  wish  to  say  one  word  about 
Michael  Angelo  Buonarotti.  I  used  to  worship  the 
mighty  genius  of  Michael  Angelo  —  that  man  who 
was  great  in  poetry,  painting,  sculpture,  architecture 
—  great  in  everything  he  undertook.  But  I  do  not 
want  Michael  Angelo  for  breakfast  —  for  luncheon  — 
for  dinner  —  for  tea  —  for  supper  —  for  between 
meals.  I  like  a  change,  occasionally.  In  Genoaf 
he  designed  everything;  in  Milan  he  or  his  pupils 
designed  everything;  he  designed  the  Lake  of  Como ; 
in  Padua,  Verona,  Venice,  Bologna,  who  did  we 
ever  hear  of,  from  guides,  but  Michael  Angelo?  In 
Florence,  he  painted  everything,  designed  every 
thing,  nearly,  and  what  he  did  not  design  he  used  to 
sit  on  a  favorite  stone  and  look  at,  and  they  showed 
us  the  stone.  In  Pisa  he  designed  everything  but 
the  old  shot-tower,  and  they  would  have  attributed 
that  to  him  if  it  had  not  been  so  awfully  out  of  the 
perpendicular.  He  designed  the  piers  of  Leghorn 
and  the  custom-house  regulations  of  Civita  Vecchia. 
But,  here  —  here  it  is  frightful.  He  designed  St. 
Peter's;  he  designed  the  Pope;  he  designed  the 
Pantheon,  the  uniform  of  the  Pope's  soldiers,  the 

Tiber,  the  Vatican,  the  Coliseum,  the  Capitol,  the 

34 


366  The  Innocents  Abroad 

Tarpeian  Rock,  the  Barberini  Palace,  St.  John 
Lateran,  the  Campagna,  the  Appian  Way,  the  Seven 
Hills,  the  Baths  of  Caracalla,  the  Claudian  Aqueduct, 
the  Cloaca  Maxima  —  the  eternal  bore  designed  the 
Eternal  City,  and  unless  all  men  and  books  do  lie, 
he  painted  everything  in  it !  Dan  said  the  other  day 
to  the  guide,  "  Enough,  enough,  enough!  Say  no 
more !  Lump  the  whole  thing !  say  that  the  Creator 
made  Italy  from  designs  by  Michael  Angelo !" 

I  never  felt  so  fervently  thankful,  so  soothed,  so 
tranquil,  so  filled  with  a  blessed  peace,  as  I  did  yes 
terday  when  I  learned  that  Michael  Angelo  was  dead. 

But  we  have  taken  it  out  of  this  guide.  He  has 
marched  us  through  miles  of  pictures  and  sculpture 
in  the  vast  corridors  of  the  Vatican ;  and  through 
miles  of  pictures  and  sculpture  in  twenty  other 
palaces;  he  has  shown  us  the  great  picture  in  the 
Sistine  Chapel,  and  frescoes  enough  to  fresco  the 
heavens  —  pretty  much  all  done  by  Michael  Angelo, 
So  with  him  we  have  played  that  game  which  has 
vanquished  so  many  guides  for  us  —  imbecility  and 
idiotic  questions.  These  creatures  never  suspect  — 
they  have  no  idea  of  a  sarcasm, 

He  shows  us  a  figure  and  says:  '*  Statoo  brunzo." 
(Bronze  statue.) 

We  look  at  it  indifferently  and  the  doctor  asks : 
"By  Michael  Angelo?" 

"  No  —  not  know  who." 

Then  he  shows  us  the  ancient  Roman  Forum, 
The  doctor  asks:  "  Michael  Angelo?" 


The  Innocents  Abroad  367 

A  stare  from  the  guide.  "  No  —  a  thousan*  year 
before  he  is  born." 

Then  an  Egyptian  obelisk.  Again:  "Michael 
Angelo?" 

"  Oh,  mon  dieu,  genteelmen!  Zis  is  two  thousan' 
year  before  he  is  born!" 

He  grows  so  tired  of  that  unceasing  question 
sometimes,  that  he  dreads  to  show  us  anything  at 
all.  The  wretch  has  tried  all  the  ways  he  can  think 
of  to  make  us  comprehend  that  Michael  Angelo  is 
only  responsible  for  the  creation  of  a  part  of  the 
world,  but  somehow  he  has  not  succeeded  yet.  Re 
lief  for  overtasked  eyes  and  brain  from  study  and 
sightseeing  is  necessary,  or  we  shall  become  idiotic 
sure  enough.  Therefore  this  guide  must  continue 
to  suffer.  If  he  does  not  enjoy  it,  so  much  the 
worse  for  him.  We  do. 

In  this  place  I  may  as  well  jot  down  a  chapter 
concerning  those  necessary  nuisances,  European 
guides.  Many  a  man  has  wished  in  his  heart  he 
could  do  without  his  guide ;  but  knowing  he  could 
not,  has  wished  he  could  get  some  amusement  out 
of  him  as  a  remuneration  for  the  affliction  of  his 
society.  We  accomplished  this  latter  matter,  and  if 
our  experience  can  be  made  useful  to  others  they 
are  welcome  to  it. 

Guides  know  about  enough  English  to  tangle 
everything  up  so  that  a  man  can  make  neither  head 
nor  tail  of  it.  They  know  their  story  by  heart  —  the 
history  of  every  statue,  painting,  cathedral,  or  other 


568  The  Innocents  Abroad 

wonder  they  show  you.  They  know  it  and  tell  it  aa 
a  parrot  would  —  and  if  you  interrupt,  and  throw 
them  off  the  track,  they  have  to  go  back  and  begin 
over  again.  All  their  lives  long,  they  are  employed 
in  showing  strange  things  to  foreigners  and  listening 
to  their  bursts  of  admiration.  It  is  human  nature 
to  take  delight  in  exciting  admiration.  It  is  what 
prompts  children  to  say  "smart"  things,  and  do 
absurd  ones,  and  in  other  ways  "show  off"  when 
company  is  present.  It  is  what  makes  gossips  turn 
out  in  rain  and  storm  to  go  and  be  the  first  to  tell  a 
startling  bit  of  news.  Think,  then,  what  a  passion 
it  becomes  with  a  guide,  whose  privilege  it  is,  every 
day,  to  show  to  strangers  wonders  that  throw  them 
into  perfect  ecstasies  of  admiration !  He  gets  so 
that  he  could  not  by  any  possibility  live  in  a  soberer 
atmosphere.  After  we  discovered  this,  we  never 
went  into  ecstasies  any  more  —  we  never  admired 
anything  —  we  never  showed  any  but  impassible 
faces  and  stupid  indifference  in  the  presence  of  the 
sublimest  wonders  a  guide  had  to  display.  We  had 
found  their  weak  point.  We  have  made  good  use  of 
it  ever  since.  We  have  made  some  of  those  people 
savage,  at  times,  but  we  have  never  lost  our  own 
serenity. 

The  doctor  asks  the  questions,  generally,  because 
he  can  keep  his  countenance,  and  look  more  like  an 
inspired  idiot,  and  throw  more  imbecility  into  the 
tone  of  his  voice  than  any  man  that  lives.  It  comes 
natural  to  him. 


The  Innocents  Abroad  369 

The  guides  in  Genoa  are  delighted  to  secure  an 
American  party,  because  Americans  so  much  won 
der,  and  deal  so  much  in  sentiment  and  emotion 
before  any  relic  of  Columbus.  Our  guide  there 
fidgeted  about  as  if  he  had  swallowed  a  spring  mat 
tress.  He  was  full  of  animation  —  full  of  impa 
tience.  He  said : 

' '  Come  wis  me,  genteelmen !  —  come !  I  show  yoc 
ze  letter  writing  by  Christopher  Colombo  !  —  write 
it  himself !  — write  it  wis  his  own  hand  !  — -  come  I" 

He  took  us  to  the  municipal  palace.  After  much 
impressive  fumbling  of  keys  and  opening  of  locks, 
the  stained  and  aged  document  was  spread  before 
us.  The  guide's  eyes  sparkled.  He  danced  about 
us  and  tapped  the  parchment  with  his  finger : 

"What  I  tell  you,  genteelmen!  Is  it  not  so? 
See  !  handwriting  Christopher  Colombo  !  —  write  it 
himself!" 

We  looked  indifferent — unconcerned.  The  doc 
tor  examined  the  document  very  deliberately,  during 
a  painful  pause.  Then  he  said,  without  any  show  of 
interest : 

*  *  Ah  —  Ferguson  —  what  —  what  did  you  say  was 
the  name  of  the  party  who  wrote  this?" 

* '  Christopher  Colombo !  ze  great  Christopher 
Colombo!" 

Another  deliberate  examination. 

"  Ah  —  did  he  write  it  himself,  or  —  or  how?" 

"He  write  it  himself!  —  Christopher  Colombo  I 
he's  own  handwriting,  write  by  himself!" 
U, 


370  The  Innocents  Abroad 

Then  the  doctor  laid  the  document  down  and  said : 

'*  Why,  I  have  seen  boys  in  America  only  four 
teen  years  old  that  could  write  better  than  that." 

*'  But  zis  is  ze  great  Christo " 

"  I  don't  care  who  it  is!  It's  the  worst  writing  I 
ever  saw.  Now  you  mustn't  think  you  can  impose 
on  us  because  we  are  strangers.  We  are  not  fools, 
by  a  good  deal.  If  you  have  got  any  specimens  of 
penmanship  of  real  merit,  trot  them  out !  —  and  if 
you  haven't,  drive  on!" 

We  drove  on.  The  guide  was  considerably  shaken 
up,  but  he  made  one  more  venture.  He  had  some 
thing  which  he  thought  would  overcome  us.  He  said  : 

44  Ah,  genteelmen,  you  come  wis  me!  I  show 
you  beautiful,  oh,  magnificent  bust  Christopher 
Colombo!  —  splendid,  grand,  magnificent!" 

He  brought  us  before  the  beautiful  bust  —  for  it 
was  beautiful  —  and  sprang  back  and  struck  an 
attitude : 

44  Ah,  look,  genteelmen! — beautiful,  grand, — 
bust  Christopher  Colombo  !  —  beautiful  bust,  beau 
tiful  pedestal !" 

The  doctor  put  up  his  eyeglass  —  procured  for 
such  occasions : 

44  Ah  —  what  did  you  say  this  gentleman's  name 
was?" 

4 *  Christopher  Colombo! — ze  great  Christopher 
Colombo!" 

'"Christopher  Colombo  —  the  great  Christopher 
Colombo.  Well,  what  did  he  do?" 


The  Innocents  Abroad  371 

"  Discover  America !  —  discover  America,  oh,  ze 
devil!" 

"  Discover  America.  No  —  that  statement  will 
hardly  wash.  We  are  just  from  America  ourselves. 
We  heard  nothing  about  it.  Christopher  Colombo 
—  pleasant  name  —  is  —  is  he  dead?" 

"  Oh,  corpo  di  Baccho  ! — three  hundred  year  1'* 

"What  did  he  die  of?" 

"  I  do  not  know  !  —  I  cannot  tell." 

"Small-pox,  think?" 

"  I  do  not  know,  genteelmen !  —  I  do  not  know 
what  he  die  of!" 

"  Measles,  likely?" 

"Maybe  —  maybe  —  I  do  not  know  —  I  think 
he  die  of  somethings." 

"  Parents  living?" 

"Im-posseeble!" 

"Ah  —  which  is  the  bust  and  which  is  the 
pedestal?" 

"  Santa  Maria !  — zis  ze  bust !  — zis  ze  pedestal !" 

"  Ah,  I  see,  I  see  —  happy  combination  —  very 
happy  combination,  indeed.  Is  —  is  this  the  first 
time  this  gentleman  was  ever  on  a  bust?" 

That  joke  was  lost  on  the  foreigner  —  guides  can 
not  master  the  subtleties  of  the  American  joke. 

We  have  made  it  interesting  for  this  Roman  guide. 
Yesterday  we  spent  three  or  four  hours  in  the  Vati* 
can  again,  that  wonderful  world  of  curiosities.  We 
came  very  near  expressing  interest,  sometimes  — 
even  admiration  —  it  was  very  hard  to  keep  from  it, 
x* 


372  The  Innocents  Abroad 

We  succeeded  though.  Nobody  else  ever  did,  in 
the  Vatican  museums.  The  guide  was  bewildered  — 
nonplussed.  He  walked  his  legs  off,  nearly,  hunt 
ing  up  extraordinary  things,  and  exhausted  all  his 
ingenuity  on  us,  but  it  was  a  failure;  we  never 
showed  any  interest  in  anything.  He  had  reserved 
what  he  considered  to  be  his  greatest  wonder  till  the 
last  —  a  royal  Egyptian  mummy,  the  best-preserved 
in  the  world,  perhaps.  He  took  us  there.  He  felt, 
so  sure,  this  time,  that  some  of  his  old  enthusiasm 
came  back  to  him : 

14  See,  genteelmen  ! — Mummy!     Mummy!" 

The  eyeglass  came  up  as  calmly,  as  deliberately 
as  ever, 

*' Ah, —  Ferguson  —  what  did  I  understand  you 
to  say  the  gentleman's  name  was?" 

"Name?  —  he  got  no  name!  —  Mummy!  — 
"Cyprian  mummy!" 

"Yes,  yes.     Born  here?" 

1  *  No  !      f  Gyptian  mummy ! ' ' 

"  Ah,  just  so.     Frenchman,  I  presume?" 

<c  No  !  —  not  Frenchman,  not  Roman  !  —  born  in 
Egypta!" 

"  Born  in  Egypta.  Never  heard  of  Egypta  be 
fore.  Foreign  locality,  likely.  Mummy  —  mummy. 
How  calm  he  is  —  how  self-possessed.  Is,  ah  —  is 
he  dead?" 

"  Oh,  sacrt  bleu,  been  dead  three  thousan'  year!" 

The  doctor  turned  on  him  savagely: 

"  Here,  now,  what  do  you  mean  by  such  conduct 


"IS    HE    DEAD  ? 


The  Innocents  Abroad  37J 

as  this !  Playing  us  for  Chinamen  because  we  are 
strangers  and  trying  to  learn !  Trying  to  impose 
your  vile  second-hand  carcasses  on  us  /  —  thunder 
and  lightning,  I've  a  notion  to  —  to  —  if  you've  got 
a  nice  fresh  corpse,  fetch  him  out!  —  or,  by  George, 
we'll  brain  you!" 

We  make  it  exceedingly  interesting  for  this 
Frenchman.  However,  he  has  paid  us  back,  partly, 
without  knowing  it.  He  came  to  the  hotel  this 
morning  to  ask  if  we  were  up,  and  he  endeavored  as 
well  as  he  could  to  describe  us,  so  that  the  landlord 
would  know  which  persons  he  meant  He  finished 
with  the  casual  remark  that  we  were  lunatics.  The 
observation  was  so  innocent  and  so  honest  that  it 
amounted  to  a  very  good  thing  for  a  guide  to  say. 

There  is  one  remark  (already  mentioned)  which 
never  yet  has  failed  to  disgust  these  guides.  We 
use  it  always,  when  we  can  think  of  nothing  else  to 
say.  After  they  have  exhausted  their  enthusiasm 
pointing  out  to  us  and  praising  the  beauties  of  some 
ancient  bronze  image  or  broken-legged  statue,  we 
look  at  it  stupidly  and  in  silence  for  five,  ten,  fifteen 
minutes  —  as  long  as  we  can  hold  out,  in  fact- — and 
then  ask: 

"  Is  —  is  he  dead?" 

That  conquers  the  serenest  of  them.  It  is  not 
what  they  are  looking  for  —  especially  a  new  guide. 
Our  Roman  Ferguson  is  the  most  patient,  unsuspect 
ing,  long-suffering  subject  we  have  had  yet.  We 
shall  be  sorry  to  part  with  him.  We  have  enjoyed 


374  The  Innocents  Abroad 

his  society  very  much.     We  trust  he  has  enjoyed 
ours,  but  we  are  harassed  with  doubts. 

We  have  been  in  the  catacombs.  It  was  like 
going  down  into  a  very  deep  cellar,  only  it  was  a 
cellar  which  had  no  end  to  it.  The  narrow  passages 
are  roughly  hewn  in  the  rock,  and  on  each  hand,  as 
you  pass  along,  the  hollowed  shelves  are  carved  out, 
from  three  to  fourteen  deep;  each  held  a  corpse 
once.  There  are  names,  and  Christian  symbols,  and 
prayers,  or  sentences  expressive  of  Christian  hopes, 
carved  upon  nearly  every  sarcophagus.  The  dates 
belong  away  back  in  the  dawn  of  the  Christian  era, 
of  course.  Here,  in  these  holes  in  the  ground,  the 
first  Christians  sometimes  burrowed  to  escape  perse 
cution.  They  crawled  out  at  night  to  get  food,  but 
remained  under  cover  in  the  daytime.  The  priest 
told  us  that  St.  Sebastian  lived  under  ground  for 
some  time  while  he  was  being  hunted ;  he  went  out 
one  day,  and  the  soldiery  discovered  and  shot  him 
to  death  with  arrows.  Five  or  six  of  the  early 
Popes  —  those  who  reigned  about  sixteen  hundred 
years  ago  —  held  their  papal  courts  and  advised  with 
their  clergy  in  the  bowels  of  the  earth.  During 
seventeen  years  —  from  A.  D.  235  to  A.  D.  252  — 
the  Popes  did  not  appear  above  ground.  Four  were 
raised  to  the  great  office  during  that  period.  Four 
years  apiece,  or  thereabouts.  It  is  very  suggestive 
of  the  unhealthiness  of  underground  graveyards  as 
places  of  residence.  One  Pope  afterward  spent  his 
entire  pontificate  in  the  catacombs  —  eight  years 


The  Innocents  Abroad  375 

Another  was  discovered  in  them  and  murdered  in 
the  episcopal  chair.  There  was  no  satisfaction  in 
being  a  Pope  in  those  days.  There  were  too  many 
annoyances.  There  are  one  hundred  and  sixty 
catacombs  under  Rome,  each  with  its  maze  of 
narrow  passages  crossing  and  recrossing  each  other 
and  each  passage  walled  to  the  top  with  scooped 
graves  its  entire  length.  A  careful  estimate  makeg 
the  length  of  the  passages  of  all  the  catacombs  com* 
bined  foot  up  nine  hundred  miles,  and  their  graves 
number  seven  millions.  We  did  not  go  through  all 
the  passages  of  all  the  catacombs.  We  were  very 
anxious  to  do  it,  and  made  the  necessary  arrange 
ments,  but  our  too  limited  time  obliged  us  to  give 
up  the  idea.  So  we  only  groped  through  the  dismal 
labyrinth  of  St.  Calixtus,  under  the  Church  of  St. 
Sebastian.  In  the  various  catacombs  are  small 
chapels  rudely  hewn  in  the  stones,  and  here  the 
early  Christians  often  held  their  religious  services  by 
dim,  ghostly  lights.  Think  of  mass  and  a  sermon 
away  down  in  those  tangled  caverns  under  ground ! 
In  the  catacombs  were  buried  St.  Cecilia,  St. 
Agnes,  and  several  other  of  the  most  celebrated  of 
the  saints.  In  the  catacomb  of  St.  Calixtus,  St. 
Bridget  used  to  remain  long  hours  in  holy  contem 
plation,  and  St.  Charles  Borromeo  was  wont  to 
spend  whole  nights  in  prayer  there.  It  was  also  the 
scene  of  a  very  marvelous  thing. 

"  Here  the  heart  of  St.  Philip  Neri  was  so  inflamed  with  divine  love 
as  to  burst  his  ribs." 


376  The  Innocents  Abroad 

I  find  that  grave  statement  in  a  book  published  in 
New  York  in  1858,  and  written  by  '*  Rev.  William 
H.  Neligan,  LL.D.,  M.A.,  Trinity  College,  Dub 
lin  ;  Member  of  the  Archaeological  Society  of  Great 
Britain."  Therefore,  I  believe  it.  Otherwise,  I 
could  not.  Under  other  circumstances  I  should 
have  felt  a  curiosity  to  know  what  Philip  had  for 
dinner. 

This  author  puts  my  credulity  on  its  mettle  every 
now  and  then.  He  tells  of  one  St.  Joseph  Cala- 
sanctius  whose  house  in  Rome  he  visited ;  he  visited 
only  the  house  —  the  priest  has  been  dead  two  hun 
dred  years.  He  says  the  Virgin  Mary  appeared  to 
this  saint.  Then  he  continues : 

"  His  tongue  and  his  heart,  which  were  found  after  nearly  a  century 
to  be  whole,  when  the  body  was  disinterred  before  his  canonization,  are 
still  preserved  in  a  glass  case,  and  after  two  centuries  the  heart  is  still 
whole.  When  the  French  troops  came  to  Rome,  and  when  Pius  VII. 
was  carried  away  prisoner,  blood  dropped  from  it.*' 

To  read  that  in  a  book  written  by  a  monk  far  back 
in  the  Middle  Ages,  would  surprise  no  one;  it  would 
sound  natural  and  proper;  but  when  it  is  seriously 
stated  in  the  middle  of  the  nineteenth  century,  by  a 
man  of  finished  education,  an  LL.D.,  M.A.,  and 
an  archaeological  magnate,  it  sounds  strangely 
enough.  Still,  I  would  gladly  change  my  unbelief 
for  Neligan's  faith,  and  let  him  make  the  conditions 
as  hard  as  he  pleased. 

The  old  gentleman's  undoubting,  unquestioning 
simplicity  has  a  rare  freshness  about  it  in  these 


The  Innocents  Abroad  377 

matter-of-fact    railroading   and    telegraphing    days. 
Hear  him,  concerning  the  Church  of  Ara  Coeli : 

"In  the  roof  of  the  church,  directly  above  the  high  altar,  is  en 
graved,  ' Regina  Cceli  hztare  Alleluia.1  In  the  sixth  century  Rome 
was  visited  by  a  fearful  pestilence.  Gregory  the  Great  urged  the  people 
to  do  penance,  and  a  general  procession  was  formed.  It  was  to  proceed 
from  Aia  Coeli  to  St.  Peter's.  As  it  passed  before  the  mole  of  Adrian, 
now  the  Castle  of  St.  Angelo,  the  sound  of  heavenly  voices  was  heard 
singing  (it  was  Easter  morn  ) — '  Regina  Cceli,  latare  f  alleluia  / 
quia  quern  meruisti  portare^  alleluia !  resurrexit  sicut  dixit ; 
alleluia  I '  The  Pontiff,  carrying  in  his  hands  the  portrait  of  the  Virgin 
(which  is  over  the  high  altar  and  is  said  to  have  been  painted  by  St. 
Luke),  answered,  with  the  astonished  people,  '  Ora  pro  nobis  Deumt 
alleluia  / '  At  the  same  time  an  angel  was  seen  to  put  up  a  sword  in 
a  scabbard,  and  the  pestilence  ceased  on  the  same  day.  There  are  four 
circumstances  which  confirm*  this  miracle :  the  annual  procession  which 
takes  place  in  the  western  church  on  the  feast  of  St.  Mark :  the  statue 
of  St.  Michael,  placed  on  the  mole  of  Adrian,  which  has  since  that 
time  been  called  the  Castle  of  St.  Angelo  ;  the  antiphon  Regina  Coeli, 
which  the  Catholic  church  sings  during  paschal  time ;  and  the  inscrip 
tion  in  the  church." 


*Th«  italics  are  mine—  M.  T. 


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